


One-Word Prompt Ficlets

by skivvysupreme



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Alternate Universe - Marvel Superheroes, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Fusion, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Diabetes, Early Relationship, Episode: s02e16 Original Song, Episode: s02e20 Prom Queen, Episode: s03e05 The First Time, Fatherhood, Fondue for Two, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Merman Kurt, Mile High Club, Period-Typical Homophobia, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Experimentation, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2018-06-06 20:18:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 22,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6768514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skivvysupreme/pseuds/skivvysupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just for a fun writing exercise, I asked my Tumblr followers to send me one-word prompts, for which I would write a few paragraphs of Klaine. Genres are all over the place (which is why the tags are such a mess), sparking from whatever pops into my head when I see the prompt. It's canon, it's AU, it's fluff, it's angst, it's sex, it's sweetness... it's "Word Association Time with Skivvy!" Here are the results!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. truth

**Author's Note:**

> These will be added as chapters as I write them, with the name of the chapter being the actual prompt. This will most likely be an ongoing thing since I've had such a fun time playing around with these short ficlets. Please keep in mind that these are designed to be REALLY SHORT; I know there could be more, and I may or may not expand a few of them if so inspired, but I already know which ones those might be since they were AUs I've been toying with anyway, so there's no need to ask for more of a particular ficlet. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (set during "Original Song")

Blaine’s lips look soft and plump and a little slick with too much balm. Kurt noticed immediately, of course, when Blaine walked in with _that look_  on his face, but then he forced himself to look Blaine in the eye and only in the eye, as he’d been training himself to do ever since Valentine’s Day. And then Blaine started saying these lovely fantasy things, things Kurt had hoped to hear when he fell for Blaine, but had locked away when he realized that Blaine wasn’t going to catch him. Kurt hears the words, but he has no time to understand them, because Blaine has stopped talking and keeps moving closer, closer–

Those lips are pressed against his own, now, and while Kurt’s heart tries to break out of its cage in delighted panic, his mind goes completely still. Every disjointed little thing he has understood about himself and Blaine up until this point finally settles in neat layers of comprehension with each second their mouths spend in contact with each other.

_He sees me._

_He feels me._

_He wants to be with me._

God, Blaine’s confession was beautiful, but Kurt didn’t need it. When he lifts his hand to Blaine’s cheek, mirroring Blaine’s own on his, and he pulls Blaine in and Blaine just gets impossibly closer in response–Kurt _knows_. 

The truth is never that complicated.


	2. captain

“CAP!” 

Kurt turns his head for only a second and spots Jane landing about fifty feet away in her Falcon suit, her curls braided in a tight halo around her head as she runs towards him. He shouts at her – “ _STAND DOWN!”_ – and turns his attention back to the relentless Winter Soldier, who has him pinned to the concrete floor of the parking structure. 

The Soldier’s long, disheveled curls are falling into his eyes and catching on his eyelashes as he presses his silver hand closer and closer to Kurt’s throat, but he doesn’t seem to care. With his bigger, more muscular frame, encased in that black fight suit and horrifying – but beautifully crafted – metal arm, he is a foreign being, so changed from the sweet Blaine that Kurt used to know, so many years ago, that Kurt struggles to reconcile the two personas. 

But Blaine is in there, somewhere. Kurt is sure of it. The Soldier’s eyes–Blaine’s eyes–have not gone cold; he is still as intense as he was seventy years ago, still as passionate, and if the seemingly bottomless well that his emotions draw from has not gone dry, Kurt still has something to work with. He keeps his voice low, hoping Jane can’t hear him, and says, “It’s me. It’s _me._  I know you didn’t get much time with this particular body of mine, but you still know it. You’re my best friend, my–my love, please, _see me_. Blaine, I know you can hear me. Listen, baby, _please._ You know who you are.”

There’s a flicker in the Soldier’s eyes; it’s just a split second, but it’s enough. Kurt bucks and rolls them over, pinning the Soldier to the ground with his arm across his throat, and then–

“…Kurt?”


	3. letter

Blaine’s face burns as he walks slowly through the town square, taking up as little space and attracting as little attention as he possibly can as he gathers his courage. A young man carrying a bucket of water from the well would certainly be commonplace, if it weren’t for the bright, scarlet letter _A_  embroidered on the chest of his jacket. Normally, only a female adulterer would have to wear the terrible brand, but his particular betrayal of his wonderful wife, Rachel, was so shameful, so perverse in the town’s eyes, that the council had settled on this humiliation and its accompanying isolation as a suitable sentence.

No one speaks to him as he passes by, for which he is almost thankful. It would be improper for anyone to abuse him publicly, as that is the point of his scarlet letter, but he can only imagine the terrible things they would say if they could. Blaine carries his water bucket to the center of the square, where a tall, thin young man sits with his arms and neck loosely bound in the stocks. This is the alternative to the usual price an unmarried “deviant” like him would pay – his life – if he weren’t Governor Hummel’s son. His bowed head, covered in tousled chestnut hair, raises slowly when Blaine’s boots enter his vision. 

“Blaine… what are you doing here?” Kurt’s face and clothes are dirty and his hair disheveled from being in the stocks for two days, but he’s just as beautiful as ever to Blaine. 

Blaine kneels, setting his water bucket on the ground next to the stocks’ wooden frame, and dips a thick rag in the water before raising it to Kurt’s face to gently wash him. 

Kurt’s eyes close with relief despite the cold of the water, and he hesitantly presses into Blaine’s touch with a soft sigh. “Blaine, I–”

“Shhh, love, it’s okay. The ship has indeed sailed, hasn’t it?” 

Kurt sniffles. “That it has.”

Blaine leans forward and kisses the clean patch of Kurt’s cheek, and though he hears a few scandalized gasps from the onlookers around them, no one makes a move. 

Kurt smiles at this, not looking anywhere but Blaine’s warm, encouraging face as he whispers, “They can’t touch us, or what we have. Not anymore.” 


	4. declare

“One, two, three, four! I DECLARE A THUMB WAR!” 

Kurt thinks this is childish. In fact, he _knows_  it’s childish; they’re 14 and 13, for god’s sake. They’re both officially teenagers. But just short of a full-on argument over which movie they want to see when Kurt’s dad picks them up to take them to the theater – Kurt insists on _The Devil Wears Prada_ , but Blaine wants to see _Spider-Man 3_  and that just looks stupid, frankly – this is the next best resolution. 

His best-friend-slash-opponent has nimble and dextrous fingers, having played piano since he was little, but so does Kurt, since he learned how to sew almost as long ago. Blaine’s ridiculous Muppet eyebrows are furrowed with focus, and Kurt’’s grunting in frustration as Blaine slips his thumb free from Kurt’s grasp again and again and again. Blaine just laughs, that wild, toothy smile of his sparking an odd little flutter in Kurt’s stomach. He looks up at Kurt, grinning triumphantly, distracting Kurt with his stupid, adorable face before he suddenly snags Kurt’s thumb underneath his like a mouse trap. 

Blaine leans forward into Kurt’s space, his breath warm across Kurt’s nose, and hisses, “HA! Spider-Man, here we co–!” 

Kurt doesn’t know what pushes him to finally do it, but the gentle kiss he presses to his best friend’s lips silences him and sends lightning down Kurt’s spine. 

Blaine blinks his long, pretty eyelashes in a daze when he leans back and opens his eyes again. He’s still got Kurt’s thumb in his grasp, but his voice is soft and shy when he blushes and whispers, “Oh. Um… You win.”


	5. novel

_“Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the–”_

“Papa, wait! Daddy’s sleeping already. DADDY!” Stella kicks her feet under her blanket, nudging Blaine’s shoulder where he’s curled up a little farther down her bed. Blaine jerks awake, snorting a little as he blinks his eyes wider than he needs to in a show of being conscious. “Daddy, you said it’s your favorite nobble, you can’t miss it!” 

“Novel, sweetheart. NAH-vel. You’re right, I guess I’ve heard the story so many times that it made me sleepy right away.” Blaine scrunches his nose at Kurt in apology and says, “Sorry, honey, keep going.”

Kurt rolls his eyes jokingly and keeps reading, but he barely gets to Mr. Dursley’s first meeting with Professor McGonagall two pages later before Stella whines again: “Da-ddyyyyyy!”

Blaine snuffles awake, again, this time interrupting the light snore he’d been letting out for the past minute or so. 

“Maybe we ought to let Daddy sleep, hmm? He’s really tired.” Kurt runs a hand over Stella’s hair as she looks over at Blaine in annoyance. 

“No, no, I’m fine, I’m listening,” Blaine insists, scooting up the bed and squeezing himself along Stella’s other side. He rests his head on Kurt’s shoulder so that they’re cocooning their daughter between them and goes quiet, waiting.

By the time he falls asleep again, one page later, Stella looks up and whispers, “Papa, do I have to go to sleep too, if it’s Daddy’s bedtime?”

Kurt glances down at his snoozing husband, dead to the world with his arm wrapped snugly around Stella as though she’s a teddy bear. 

“Jesus, Blaine… No, baby, I promised one chapter before bed and you’re paying attention like a big girl.” He leans down and kisses Stella’s forehead as she beams proudly, then continues:  _“Don’t be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last!…”_


	6. games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This one's set in The Hunger Games, so there is death and violence, though neither Kurt or Blaine dies.

This is unheard-of. The Career tribute from District 1 and the unlucky, random selection from District 7 should never have allied, much less survived this long together, but there they are, holed up in a tree canopy trying to remain as quiet as possible while one of their enemies walks carefully across the forest floor underneath them. Blaine trembles in Kurt’s arms, burrowing tighter into his hold, and Kurt drops a barely-there kiss to his greasy curls and holds on. Kurt has nothing left back home, not anymore, not now that he’s turned on Quinn, his tribute-mate. He hadn’t planned on that. He also hadn’t planned on the connection he’d found with Blaine during training, but his plans are irrelevant now. They’ve fallen for each other and now Quinn is dead, Kurt having shot an arrow through her back right when she was about to throw a spear through Blaine’s. 

There are four left standing: Kurt, Blaine, Marley from District 12 (who they haven’t seen since she fled from the Cornucopia at the start of the Games), and–

“I KNOW YOU’RE HERE, BLAINE!” Santana screams, holding her axe at the ready as she peers through the trees around her. She’s a lethal throw with that thing, and Blaine knows it, having witnessed her skills for years before this moment. They’re camped out in a cross of branches a little ways above a hive of tracker-jackers, which kept the other remaining tributes away until they, too, perished in ways unseen, but if Santana spots him and Kurt in their tree, one of them will die, no question about it. “HOW DARE YOU TURN ON YOUR DISTRICT! I WOULD HAVE KILLED YOU LAST, BUT – but you let Brittany die, and now…” 

Santana sobs. The sequence of deaths had been so quick: Blaine hadn’t covered District 3′s Brittany as he’d agreed to do in their earlier alliance, and the Career from 2, Puck, killed her, so Santana got him _and_  his tribute-mate Rachel when she tried to retaliate… all the while, Blaine disappeared into the forest with Kurt, who left his own tribute-mate dead on the ground behind him. And now Santana, heartbroken, enraged, and reckless, would either kill them both or die trying.

Kurt raises one hand, slowly, slowly, so he can get his dagger against the thin branch holding up the tracker-jacker hive. He meets Blaine’s eyes, pauses – _Blaine grew up with her, they came here together, home will never forgive him if he makes it back –_ until Blaine, tears streaming silently down his face, nods. 

The hive falls. Santana screams. 

Blaine buries his face in Kurt’s chest and waits for her to stop.


	7. knees

“R-Rachel’s gonna be here any–ungh, oh, Kurt please, she’s gonna be here any s-second, stop t-teasing–”

Kurt slides his mouth off Blaine’s cock and licks his lips. “Not teasing,” he corrects hoarsely. “Savoring.” He’s on his knees, between Blaine’s legs and under the piano in McKinley’s auditorium, slowly jacking his brand new husband’s cock as he licks just under the head. Blaine’s clutching the piano bench for dear life, rock-hard where he hangs out of his pants and so close to coming he can taste it. 

“Stop. _Teasing,”_ Blaine grunts, putting one hand on the back of Kurt’s head and pushing him forward. He makes a low, breathy noise when Kurt laughs and takes him back into his mouth. Kurt glances back up, meeting eyes with Blaine, then holds his gaze, takes a deep breath through his nose, and keeps going until his nose hits the hair below Blaine’s belly button.

Blaine doubles over, whimpering, his hand tightening in Kurt’s hair as he holds him in place and shoots down his throat. His other hand comes up to the piano, a hideous chord clanging through the auditorium as he grasps the keys. Kurt slides off and licks Blaine clean, gently placing him back in his pants, and not a moment later do they hear two people at the top of the stairs on the far end of the huge room. Kurt frantically tries to finger-comb his hair back into place as Blaine tries to compose himself. 

“Hey, Mr. Anderson! Or is it Mr. Hummel now?” Spencer’s voice rings loud and clear through the space, his and Roderick’s footsteps thumping down the stairs.

“It’s–” Kurt coughs, clearing his throat, and crawls out from under the piano. “It’s both,” he says, then widens his eyes dramatically and says, “Found it! My ring, it–it fell. Under the piano.” 

“Still have to get them fit properly,” Blaine adds, discreetly zipping his pants; thankfully, he’s covered by the piano from this angle, so Spencer and Roderick can’t see anything. “Guys, have you seen Miss Berry, by chance?”

A soft, high-pitched, and all-too-familiar cackle emits from the black curtain a bit farther up the stage, and Kurt immediately turns pink and meets narrowed eyes with Blaine.

“Rachel Berry is a god damn pervert.”


	8. crown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Set during Prom Queen)

_He looks so good in that crown,_ Blaine thinks, sadly. He looks perfect. He’s graceful and poised and defiant and 100% Kurt Hummel, twirling his scepter between his fingers as his kilt swirls around his knees. It’s a testament to who Kurt is that he’s still wearing the crown, now that they’re out of sight of most of Kurt’s friends and classmates and climbing into his car.

“Thank you for being there,” Kurt whispers, setting his scepter in his lap once he’s in the driver’s seat. He stares at the glittery gold stick a little too long and his mouth twists. “I know I freaked out when it happened, but thank you, for following me, and listening to me, and… and dancing with me, when no one else did.” 

Blaine tries to think of something light, something sweet, so he says, “You’ve always been royalty. It’s just, now everyone knows it.” 

“Except they screwed up my title,” Kurt replies bitterly. In the dim light of the parking lot, his eyes are going wet. 

Blaine’s heart thumps uncomfortably in his chest. He doesn’t know the correct way to address the situation. He hadn’t known something like this was even an option. “Yeah. Yeah, they did screw up. But did you hear how they cheered for you when you showed them how much of a badass you are? Like, you want a queen, McKinley? Kurt Hummel will show you a queen. There’s a reason it’s the most powerful piece on a chess board. Besides, their elected _king_ ran away.” 

Blaine did the same thing, once, but that’s neither here nor there at the moment. At least he ran _in_ , this time.

Kurt sniffles and wipes under his eyes, just once, then hands Blaine his scepter.  _“You can be the king, but watch the queen conquer,”_ he says, with a wry, lopsided grin. “Mm. Let’s go home.”

Blaine can’t resist kissing him then, in full view of whoever else may be in this parking lot.


	9. ouch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place after a bit of breathplay gone awry, but they're okay! Set sometime during late season 3, the boys are experimenting :)

“Blaine… if–if this is something you want to try again, I need you to tell me when it’s too much. We need a signal.” Kurt’s trying to keep his voice level, to maintain some control, but it’s difficult when he’s so shaken by the pained noises Blaine was making a few minutes ago. Kurt’s lying next to him, halfway on his chest, gently massaging Blaine’s neck. 

“It wasn’t too much,” Blaine replies. His voice vibrates under Kurt’s fingers; it’s low and warm, if a little soft and hoarse.

“You couldn’t breathe.” 

“That was the point.” 

“You didn’t sound… you said ‘ouch’ when I let go. I didn’t realize I was hurting you. I never want to hurt you. We didn’t think this through, we – there’s supposed to be communication, and aftercare, I think, and – we should’ve had a signal, I can’t believe we–” 

“Even if we’d had one, I wouldn’t have used it just now. I’m fine, Kurt, really. I’m great.” Blaine bends a little and lifts Kurt’s chin for a kiss, trying to soothe him. “You came, I came, everybody’s fine.” 

Kurt sits up on his knees, fixing Blaine with a serious glare that is no less serious for the fact that they’re both naked and covered in cum. “Everybody is  _not_ fine! This isn’t just about you trusting me. I have to be able to trust you to say when. I… I have limits, too.” 

Blaine hears the crack in Kurt’s voice, his expression shifting into something more alert and less amused, and sits up to meet him. “I did just sort of… spring this on you, I’m sorry. Would you be okay with trying this or something similar again, if we talk it through?”

Kurt takes a deep breath, thinking, as he looks at the slight bruise on Blaine’s neck. 

“You scared yourself more than you scared me,” Blaine says quietly. 

“Clearly. But… I liked what we did, up until the end,” Kurt admits. ”If we talk and do more research, together… I think I’d like to try again.” 

Blaine grins and wraps his arms around Kurt’s back, letting Kurt rest his chin over Blaine’s shoulder. “Of course, baby. Just say when.”


	10. distractions

“Pssst. Hey. Kurt… Kurt… Kurt–”

***bee-bee-beep, BWOOP***

“Shhh, both of you…. Not now.” 

“But there’s finally a clear spot in the Roysa Nebula, just off Tatooine! Wanna go?” 

Kurt cracks one eye open, though he doesn’t move from his cross-legged position on the floor of his quarters. Blaine is already dressed in his orange flight suit, padded white vest, and black and red helmet. BB-8 peers at Kurt from behind Blaine’s legs as Blaine bounces on his toes with his hands behind his back.

“I have another hour of meditation to go. The Force is… well, I feel it quite strongly today.” Kurt blushes a bit and looks away, picking at the cream-colored fabric wrapped around his forearms. He’s still not used to speaking about his newly developed powers, but he’s finally starting to settle into the way they make him feel. 

***bwee-bwooooop, ba-ba-beep!*** BB-8 circles around to Blaine’s front and starts to nudge him backwards, away from Kurt.

“See? The droid understands,” Kurt says, reaching out to touch BB-8′s head affectionately. 

***beepbeepbeepbeepBEEP!*** BB-8 wiggles in place, swiveling around to look at Kurt, then continues to try and push Blaine out of the room.

Blaine rolls his eyes and steps out of BB-8′s path, muttering, _“Some co-pilot you are”_ at the droid as he moves to stand in front of Kurt. “If the Force is extra strong today, then that sounds like the perfect time to fly.” He leans down and places a hand on the back of Kurt’s partially-buzzed head, just below the little bun of dark brown hair at his crown, then kisses him and whispers, “Please, babe? Just this once? There’s a confiscated, freshly-serviced TIE fighter with your name on it… and this is for you.”

He finally pulls his arm from behind his back and places a helmet in Kurt’s lap. It’s a clean and shiny one with the Rebel insignia on it in black and red, just like Blaine’s and nothing like the old, dirty one Kurt held so dear on Jakku. 

Kurt sighs in exasperation, but he’s grinning when he stands and hugs the helmet to his chest. He takes Blaine’s hand as BB-8 beeps and chirps happily in the background, then kisses Blaine’s cheek and says, “If I never complete my Jedi training, it will be because of you. Let’s fly.”


	11. balloon

Kurt still celebrates Mother’s Day. It’s just that he does it alone. 

Every year, that Sunday comes, his dad leaves him be, and eventually, though the day is long, it passes. He’s told Carole about this already. They have a heart-to-heart watching _Steel Magnolias_ the night before, Kurt masking his sadness as a reaction to the movie as he tried to articulate: _It’s nothing personal, you’re family to me, but tomorrow is–it’s always hard and Facebook’s going to suck and I just need that time with her, I mean sort of with her – it’s hard to explain…_

But Carole understands. She holds him and touches his hair and tells him she loves him and thanks him for being honest. And the next morning, when Kurt comes downstairs for coffee, he sees that his dad, stepmother, and stepbrother have – by his own request – given him peace and quiet and left for brunch without him. The remains of their morning celebration sit on the kitchen counter: the half-burnt, poorly frosted cupcake and two bright, floating balloons (one in pretty pastel colors that says  _HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY_ in cursive textnext to a metallic red one with Wonder Woman on it) have Finn written all over them. 

Kurt leaves the balloons where they are, though he tries not to look at them as he prepares the French press. He is rarely envious of Finn, but this is, after all, a rare occasion. 

Blaine texts him good morning, and asks if he can come over once he gets back from lunch with his mom, but Kurt says no. As much as he adores his boyfriend and his company, he really does need space right now. Blaine doesn’t respond for a while, so Kurt sets his phone on the living room sofa, places _The Sound of Music,_ his mother’s favorite, on her old record player, and settles in with his coffee to listen. 

His phone buzzes again. 

**_Please tell her Happy Mother’s Day, from me. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have you, so even if she didn’t plan on it, she changed my life and I can’t thank her enough. She seems like an extraordinary woman and I wish I could’ve known her_ **

**_:-* I love you and I’m here if you need anything_ **

**_**_But if I’m being weird plz disregard_ **   
_ **

Kurt laughs, actually laughs out loud even as he starts tearing up, and taps out a text for Blaine before he shuts his eyes and lets the music flow through him. 

**You’re not being weird, you’re being perfect. I think she would have loved you almost as much as I do. Thanks <3**


	12. ocean

Blaine slowly, groggily comes awake to his head being turned left and right by one strong hand clamped around his jaw. He feels a bump near his temple, which seems to be the hot, painful center of his discomfort; as he winces and reaches up to touch it, he hears a loud, high-pitched, animal-sounding noise coming from something that is heavy on his chest and very, _very_ close to his face. 

He opens his eyes and sees the ocean. Or rather, the eyes staring back at him are the exact same color, a bright blue-green-gold-gray like clear waters on a semi-cloudy day.

“Eeee-arr!” the ocean-eyed person says, though it doesn’t sound like anything a person would say. A vocally gifted dolphin, maybe. Blaine blinks a few times to clear his vision. The person is a boy, with thick, brown hair pushed back from his forehead and chiseled features on an almost cherubic face. He’s smiling at Blaine, and on either side of his wide grin, just under his ears and jaw, he has–

He has– 

_What?!_

“EEEE-ARR!” the boy says again, his gills – fucking _gills –_ opening a little in apparent excitement before they settle back into place. At what must be a bewildered look on Blaine’s face, the boy shuts his eyes, clears his throat, then opens them again and says, “Handsome human, you are awake! You have a land tongue, I am sorry.” 

_Human. He called me human, which means he isn’t, so–_

Blaine sits up slowly, and the boy pushes himself up on one arm to meet him. When he looks down, the split, translucent fins at the end of the boy’s tail flops idly in the sand; it’s a long, thick mermaid’s tail covered in shimmering scales that match his eyes, which transitions smoothly into scaly blue skin, then pale, peachy, human-looking skin at the bottom of his lean torso. The boy reaches up with webbed fingers and presses at the bump on Blaine’s forehead, which Blaine now notices has been covered in gooey seaweed. The boy – mermaid – merman, if Blaine’s correct, has tried to help him.

Blaine’s heart skips a beat. He isn’t sure if it’s from shock or dumb infatuation as he stares at the boy. 

“Yes, I’m awake… I think.”


	13. umbrella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for discussion of depression

“Oh! Hey, honey, are you awake?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t think you’d still be home. Was class cancelled today?” Kurt drops his bag next to the dresser and circles around the bed to where Blaine is curled up under the blankets in their darkened room. He sure wishes he’d gotten to sleep in with his husband today, but he’s just returning from a night shift at the diner. 

Blaine’s hair is wild and ungelled where it pokes up from the covers. He stirs, slowly, moving the blanket off himself a little, but he doesn’t get up. Then he raises tired, wet-looking eyes towards Kurt and sighs, “No.” 

All at once, it clicks in Kurt’s head. Blaine’s looking away from him now, shame written all over his expression. Kurt hates that face, hates the fact that Blaine blames himself for this _thing_  that follows him around and overtakes him like a stubborn raincloud covering the sun, or an anchor dragging him underwater, or… or any of the cliches Kurt comes up with when he tries to give the enemy a face. 

“I’m sorry,” Blaine says, though he doesn’t need to. He never needs to, not for this.

Kurt wants to fight this thing himself, and can’t. Blaine’s depression frustrates him to no end, because he has no idea how to help, but Kurt knows that his frustration is  _nothing_ to Blaine’s, having to live with it. “ _I’m_ sorry, B. Everything I can think of feels… insufficient. I don’t know what to say.” 

“Then don’t say anything.” 

Kurt quietly peels out of his waiter uniform and, needing to do something with his hands, goes to their bathroom to wash and moisturize his face. The resign in Blaine’s voice might be what hurts most right now. He feels so useless on days like this, even though Blaine always tells Kurt that it’s not his responsibility to deal with his issues, as though that means it’s Blaine’s own responsibility to magically overcome on his own. As though Kurt could _ever_ let him go through this alone. 

Kurt leaves the bathroom and slides under the covers on his side, then scoots over to Blaine and spoons up behind him. 

Blaine immediately rolls over to face him and tucks in close against his chest, curling an arm around Kurt’s waist when Kurt wraps his arms around his shoulders. “I’m sorry I’m like this.”

It’s no use telling Blaine not to apologize. So, Kurt does what they always do when words fail them. He kisses Blaine’s temple and, as softly as he can, sings into his ear:  _“When the sun shines, we’ll shine together. Told you I’ll be here forever. Said I’ll always be your friend, took an oath, I’mma stick it out ‘til the end…”_

Blaine makes a wet-sounding, sniffly noise.

 _“Now that it’s raining more than ever, know that we’ll still have each other. You can stand under my umbrella, you can stand under my umbrella…_  Come on, where’s my duet partner?”

Blaine sniffles again and sighs, his breath hot on Kurt’s neck.  _“Ella, ella, ey ey ey, under your umbrella…”_

“Just mine? You don’t have an umbrella, B?”

“Not today.” 

“Okay, no problem. We can fit under mine, we just have to stay close.” 

Blaine clings tighter. Kurt feels him smile against his skin.


	14. lost

“Mom, can I have this one? Please?” Lizzie’s 8-year-old son tugs at her hand, then runs back to the shelf and picks up the gymnast Barbie set – complete with doll-sized parallel bars – in both arms, widening his big blue eyes pleadingly and giving her his sweetest smile.

Lizzie kneels down to his eye-level and whistles. “Very cool, Kurt. But I thought you wanted Veterinarian Barbie?”

Kurt hoists the big box in his arms and says, “I do, but this one can spin and flip on the bars, and – and I like her clothes.”

Lizzie smiles at the doll’s sparkly turquoise bodysuit and the tiny gold medal hanging from her neck. “She’s fabulous, sweetheart. Here, I’ll trade you, if you’re sure.” She takes the Barbie set and puts it in their shopping cart, then hands Kurt the other doll so he can put her back on the shelf.

He beams at her and runs back to where Veterinarian Barbie is displayed, but he stops in his tracks before he gets there and says, his voice suddenly gone shy, “Hi.”

Lizzie looks over and sees a small, neatly dressed boy with inexplicably gelled hair standing at the end of the aisle. He keeps glancing between her and Kurt nervously and his cheeks are wet with tears. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asks, that lost look on the boy’s face tugging sharply in her chest as she walks closer to them. He can’t be any older than Kurt.

“I can’t find my dad,” the boy sniffles. “I wasn’t supposed to leave where he was but I did and then I went back but he was gone and now I don’t know what to do.”

Lizzie takes a deep breath. Every time Kurt wanders too far in a store, it scares the crap out of her, but she’s never lost track of him to this extent. She doesn’t even want to picture him being in this situation and so distressed. “I’m sure he’s looking for you right now, honey. Do you want to stay here and wait a little while? We’ll wait with you.”

The boy shakes his head quickly, sniffling again as he says, “He’s gonna be even madder at me if he finds me with the girl toys.”

Before Lizzie can even register the fury that rises in her throat at that statement, Kurt sets down the Barbie box and pipes up, clear as day: “They’re not just girl toys! We can play with them, too. My mom and dad let me.”

“They do?” The boy takes a step closer to Kurt, wiping his wet face with his palms. He blinks his lush eyelashes up at Lizzie for confirmation, as if he doesn’t believe that what Kurt’s telling him is possible.

God, those eyes, Lizzie muses. How does anyone deny him anything?

“Yeah! I liked the pet doctor Barbie, but then I saw this one. And at home I have more!” Kurt picks up the box and moves closer to the boy. “Look, she’s so cool! And she can do flips and stuff, just like the Olympics!”

The boy smiles, and now Lizzie can see that he’s missing one of his bottom teeth. “Wow… I wish I could play with her. But I really like the doctor Barbie, too.”

“You can! You can come over and we can play, right Mom?” Kurt turns his own devastating peepers on her and adds, “Pleeeeease?”

It pains Lizzie to say it, because she would happily adopt this adorable child right this second and let him play with whichever toys he wants, if she could, but Lizzie answers, “As long as his dad says it’s okay.”

The boy bites his lip. “He said I should be friends with more boys. So we can do boy things.”

Kurt lights up, running over to their shopping cart to put Gymnast Barbie inside, then runs back to the boy and says, “That’s perfect! You can be friends with me! We can take you to the service desk so they can call your dad and he’ll be so happy we found you that he’ll let you come over!”

The boy looks up at Lizzie and takes a step back. “I’m not supposed to follow strangers…”

“That’s just for grown-up strangers. I know where it is, I’ll take you! Mom can follow us. So then it’s okay.”

Lizzie puts a hand over her mouth, a proud grin spreading across her face. Once Kurt sets his mind to something, he’ll do whatever he can to make it happen. The best she and Burt have been able to do is try to guide him in the right direction and protect him from getting hurt.

“Okay! My name’s Blaine,” the boy says, taking Kurt’s hand.

“I’m Kurt! You can call my mom Mrs. Hummel.”

Blaine smiles up at her and reaches out to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hummel.”

“Nice to meet you too, Blaine.” Lizzie is utterly charmed with this sweet little boy, though she wonders what kind of traditionalist father he has, to teach him such neat manners and gender his interests. “Kurt, sweetheart, lead the way.”

Kurt raises his chin a bit, fully committing to his role as the leader, and starts off down the aisle, pulling Blaine along behind him. “I’ve never met another boy who likes dolls and stuff. I thought I was the only one.”

“Me too.”

Lizzie watches this boy, looking at her son like he put the stars in the sky, and briefly wonders if Blaine is a little more like Kurt than either of them realizes. 

Just before they leave the aisle to head to the front of the store, Lizzie retrieves the veterinarian Barbie from the shelf and puts her in the cart. She can be Blaine’s, whenever he comes over.


	15. disney

Blaine swings his legs over the ledge of his windowsill, peering at the quiet street down below with his heart pumping at a rabbit’s pace in his chest. “Are you sure about this? Are you _sure_  the fairy dust works?” 

There’s a sudden flurry of indignant squeaking right next to his ear, Rachel flapping her tiny fairy wings against Blaine’s cheek as she rages against his distrust. 

“See, you pissed her off. Now her fairy dust might not work on you,” Kurt says, leaning upside down against the wall above the window. He smooths the intricately woven green leaves that make up his clothing and shakes his head piteously. “If you drop out of the sky once we’re up there, I’m not sure I’ll be able to catch you. Momentum builds pretty fast when you’re falling from 30,000 feet.”

“What?!” Blaine scrambles backwards off the ledge and falls into the room with a heavy thump against the carpeted floor. Rachel follows him down in a blur of gold light, still furiously squeaking and bashing her little fists against his nose; though Blaine can’t understand her, he thinks he gets the gist. 

“Blaine, darling, I’m kidding,” Kurt sighs, flying down and smoothly grabbing Rachel between his thumb and forefinger before he rolls and lands on his feet. Then he sits next to Blaine on the floor and, ignoring the increase in enraged noises emitting from his best fairy friend, says, “She’s getting the impression that you don’t _believe_  in her. Do you remember what I said about believing in fairies?”

“Oh! Oh god, Rachel, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it like that.” Blaine sits up, straightening his light blue pajama top, and scoots closer to Kurt, who holds Rachel in place in front of him. “I do believe in fairies. Especially you. I have no doubt your power will work, I was just scared to jump out the window. Will you forgive me?”

Rachel’s angry squeaks get just a bit louder and faster for a moment – having her final say, Blaine supposes, since Kurt’s rolling his eyes behind her – but then she slows, her wings settling into a calm flutter. Kurt lets her go, and she floats over to Blaine and touches his cheek before flying back to Kurt’s side and making much gentler noises. 

Tingly warmth spreads in Blaine’s cheek and he lifts his fingers to touch the spot, his eyes widening when he sees a glowing gold residue on his fingertips. “What did she do?” 

The look on Kurt’s face stuns Blaine for a moment. His grin is a mile wide, and the gold sparkles radiating from Rachel, who’s hovering right next to him, illuminate every color in his eyes and hair. They’re blue-gray-gold-green galaxies under a tousled wildfire of warm, chestnut brown. 

“She gave you a fairy kiss to protect you from harm,” Kurt answers. “She doesn’t do that for just anybody. She said it’s – it’s because she can’t let my heart die.” 

Blaine swallows, noting with an ecstatic little thrill that Kurt starts hovering off the ground when he says that last part. “Your heart?” 

Kurt nods, still smiling that beaming, toothy smile, then takes Blaine’s hand. Blaine’s feet lift from the floor when Kurt touches him. “Are you ready now, to fly away with me? Fly away, and never return?” 

Blaine looks down at their bodies, floating towards the window together before Blaine is even conscious of making up his mind. He has, though. 

He wouldn’t leave Kurt for the world… but he would leave this world for Kurt. 

“Don’t ever look back,” he whispers, dropping a kiss of his own to Kurt’s cheek before they make their way through the window.


	16. milkshake

The girls are lovely, really, but Blaine’s not so sure this double date was a good idea. 

Blaine’s date, Santana, is a thoroughly modern firecracker who looks like a sultry film star, with her long black hair set in a waterfall of waves over her left shoulder. Her best friend, Brittany, is a sweet, funny, blonde bombshell who has kept them on their toes all evening with her surprising remarks and unique point of view. They are Sophia Loren and Brigitte Bardot in the flesh. Any guy would be lucky to spend time with them.

But… darn it if Blaine can’t take his eyes off Brittany’s date, Kurt. 

He’s a James Dean, Beat poet fantasy, sort of quiet and contained yet thrumming with a bohemian sensibility in his slim black turtleneck and patterned blazer. Blaine tries to focus on the story Brittany’s currently telling about her cat taking up smoking, but it’s especially hard to follow when Kurt is, well… _fellating_ his milkshake. He takes the maraschino cherry off the top of the shake and wraps his full, pink lips around it, sucking off the whipped cream before he pulls the whole cherry into his mouth. 

 _Sure wish he’d do that to me_ , Blaine thinks, sighing wistfully as he rests his chin on his hand and continues to ignore his food. 

“…It’s just so hard, you know? I wish Lord Tubbington would smoke outside, but he doesn’t fit through the cat door anymore.” 

Santana _tsks_  sympathetically and puts her hand over Brittany’s on top of the diner table. “I’m sorry, Britt, that’s tough. What if you…”

Blaine zones out again when Kurt swipes a finger through the mound of whipped cream on top of his shake. He slips his finger into his mouth with half-lidded eyes, his dimples showing when he grins around his mouthful and hums, pleased, at the taste. Then he licks at the white cream at the corners of his lips and reaches a finger into the shake for more.

Blaine groans out loud, a soft “ _fuck”_  escaping his lips as his eyes follow Kurt’s cream-covered finger back into his mouth. 

He doesn’t notice that Brittany has halted her story until Santana nudges his shoulder and laughs, “Cool it, would you? Can you at least wait until we get to the drive-in?”

“Uh – um.” Blaine blinks, blushing furiously now that everyone’s attention is on him - Kurt’s included. 

Santana rolls her eyes, exchanging a knowing smirk with Brittany. “Get with it, Blaine. We only invited you and Doll-face out tonight so that  _we_  could hang out. And _you_ , well,” she says, lowering her voice as she rounds on Kurt, “if you’re not razzin’ his berries on purpose right now, then you’ve got one hell of a natural talent, but we’ve got to keep up appearances for just a little while longer. Catch my drift?” 

Kurt’s eyes go wide, and he sucks his lips into his mouth as pink blooms high on his freckled cheeks. 

“Please, Kurtsie?” Brittany pouts, taking his hand under the table. “Santana’s abuela is nosy, so we can’t neck in her room anymore. We thought you two would be a good match. This way, everyone can be happy.”

Blaine’s heart blitzes in his chest when he meets eyes with Kurt. When Kurt smiles back at him, shyly fluttering his eyelashes as he bites his lip, Blaine knows they’re thinking the same thing. 

_We’re not alone. I like you. This is swell._

Kurt suddenly tosses his straw on the table, lifts his glass to his mouth, and starts taking big gulps of the icy milkshake. He pauses for a moment, wincing and scrunching up his face at the brain freeze, then hisses, “Finish your burger, Blaine. We’ve got a movie to catch.” Kurt snaps his fingers at the passing waiter and calls, “Excuse me, sorry, that was rude, but can we get the check, please?” 

Blaine bursts out laughing and digs in. He’s never eaten so fast in his life.


	17. airplane

“This — this was a bad idea,” Blaine pants, pressing his hand against the wall of the tiny bathroom to try and steady himself. The “Fasten Seatbelts” light keeps chiming, and a flight attendant has knocked once or twice, but Kurt’s still buried inside him and there is no dignified way to get back to their seats at this point.

“The idea was good; the timing was bad,” grunts Kurt against his neck where he’s pressed along Blaine’s back, tightening the arm he has wrapped around Blaine’s stomach. The plane jerks, the turbulence sending Kurt jolting forward as Blaine pushes back to keep himself from slamming his flushed face into the bathroom door. All that accomplishes is driving Kurt’s cock even deeper; Blaine’s moan reverberates in the tiny space before Kurt lets go of the sink to clamp his other hand over Blaine’s mouth.

Blaine shakes his head, whimpering and pulling Kurt’s hand away. “This is an airplane, Kurt, what kind of GERMS—?”

“We’re fucking in a portable bathroom and you choose _now_ to worry about sanitation?”

Someone knocks on the door again.

Kurt reaches around to grasp Blaine’s cock and starts stroking him along with his thrusts. “Come on, B—”

“Kurt, we tried, but— _oh god, yeah_ —no, no wait, we should just— _unh_ —we should f- _fuck_ , forget this and—”

“Blaine, please, please just let me finish, we’re already here and we’re not getting out discreetly, I know you’re close—”

The plane moves abruptly, again; this time, they both fall backwards, Kurt dropping against the toilet seat and taking Blaine with him. Blaine lands hard in his lap, still squeezed around Kurt’s cock. He plants both hands against the door, thrusting backwards like it’s a reflex, then covers his own mouth with his bicep and comes, shuddering helplessly.

Kurt grinds desperately against him, trying to get there—

Someone knocks on the door again and Kurt swears against the back of Blaine’s neck. 

 _“Sir?_ ” comes an urgent male voice, then softer, _“Erm… Both of you?”_

Blaine clears his throat and answers, “Y-yeah?”

 _“The turbulence is going to get a little worse shortly,”_ the flight attendant says in that same quiet voice _, “so, this would be a good time to, uh, get back to your seats. Please, uh, please collect yourselves as quickly as possible and, uh…”_

“Be right out, thank you,” Blaine says, carefully lifting himself from Kurt’s lap and sliding off his cock.

“But… Blaine, wait, I’m still…”

The whine dies in Kurt’s throat as Blaine glares at him over his shoulder. Kurt accepts this turn of events, grumbling, as Blaine wipes himself clean and shimmies his pants back on.

“Either think unsexy thoughts, or tuck your dick in your waistband, but come on, Kurt. That plane has flown.”


	18. idle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PLOTLESS COTTON CANDY :D

Blaine settles on his stomach on the carpet with baby Stella. She’s learned to roll, and it’s her new favorite thing, so he has to keep a close eye on her.  “What’s Papa up to, hmm?” Blaine asks her as he smiles down at his phone, seeing that Kurt was updating his Snap story during today’s matinee.

 _Kurt, with his huge red and gold crown perched on his head, dances and mouths along with the speaker stuck to the top of the wall in his dressing room._ “Angelicaaa! Eliiiza! And Peggy! The Schuyler sisters! We’re looking for a mind at work!” _The caption is_ **Santana, Tina, and Jane: flawless as always** _with several applause emojis._

_In the next video, Kurt’s pouting at the camera; his crown looks positively absurd atop the puppy face filter. He sighs and says, “You’ll be back, right? ‘Cause it seems like you’re never coming back, ever…”_

Stella gurgles at the sound of his voice, and Blaine runs a hand over her soft, dark brown hair and laughs, “Yeah, it’s Papa, see?”

 _Kurt and Tina are mugging for the camera in flower crowns, fluttering their eyelashes and making sweet, angelic faces, when_ “A message from the king! A message from the king!” _rings out over the dressing room speaker. Kurt’s eyes go wide and he hands Tina the phone as he darts out of frame. Tina stifles her laughter behind one hand, and then the video ends as she mutters, “Holy shi–” The caption, presumably added by Tina, says_ **WE’RE PROFESSIONALS I PROMISE**

Blaine rolls his eyes and sends Kurt a direct chat response for that one: **Idle hands are the devil’s playthings, babe :-P**

 _Tina’s on screen alone, listening to the dressing room speaker as a high, clear voice with an affected British accent floats in. The voice is cool and aloof, as though its owner didn’t just sprint to the wings to make his cue._ “You say… the price of my love’s not a price that you’re willing to pay…” _Tina’s caption reads,_ **Long live the king!** _with a heart and a crown emoji._

 _Then it’s Tina again, grinning in awe as Kurt’s voice turns smug and sinister._ “You’ll be back… Soon, you’ll see… You remember, you belong to me…” _Tina shakes her head and whispers to the camera, “He gives me chills, you guys.”_  

Blaine sighs, that usual _Kurt’s singing!_  feeling bubbling up in his stomach.

“You say that our love is draining and you can’t go on…” _Tina flutters her fingers in the air with her eyes closed as Kurt nails the high note. The caption simply reads, **YAAAS**_

Stella rolls onto her back and kicks her feet. Blaine reaches over and tickles her tummy to keep her giggling and flailing around, then films her and sends the snap to Kurt with a smiley emoji and the caption, **The most important review is in!**  

_Kurt’s response comes seconds later. He’s beaming and dimpled, tugging at his ruffly shirt collar as he says, “Who needs a Tony when you’ve got that kind of support, huh? I’m on my way, see you at home, sweethearts!”_

Blaine grins and sits up to put his phone on the coffee table, Stella gurgling quietly behind him. “See, Stella? Papa’s on his – oh crap, come back here, roly-poly, where do you think you’re going…?”


	19. boner

 

 

 

 

Kurt has never been more aware of his own dick in his entire life. That’s saying something, because he and Blaine have been having sex for five months, and his blisteringly sexy boyfriend has certainly turned him on for much longer. Still, he likes to think he’s become exceptionally skilled at repressing random, inconvenient boners. 

This one is not random, though. This one is _devastating_  in how not-random it is, and the pressure in his tight jeans accompanies a hot flush in his cheeks that is impossible to hide under his pale skin. 

Cooper Anderson is staring at him across the dinner table, and Kurt is positively _blushing_ under his attention. They only met for the first time a couple days ago, so the Andersons invited Kurt to dinner before Cooper flies back to California in the morning. “I mean it, Kurt, you could make a _racket_  in L.A. as a stylist. You’ve got a lot of flair.”

“Thank you,” Kurt says, beaming at Cooper even as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He hasn’t gotten a chance to get up to adjust himself, and even if he could, he’s not sure how to escape the table in any sort of covert fashion, not as hard as he’s getting. Cooper’s gorgeous eyes and thick, dark hair and easy, whitened smile are almost too much to deal with head-on, and he’s leaning forward as he talks to Kurt, engaging him, charming the _shit_  out of him, pulling him in–

Blaine, who started out the evening with sweet smiles and an easygoing attitude but has gotten more quiet and surly as the night progresses, interjects, “He’s got amazing style, but didn’t you just say, like, _yesterday_ , that I shouldn’t let Kurt pick out my clothes, Coop?” 

“ _You_ shouldn’t, yeah. Not every stylist fits every client, Squirt, that’s just obvious. Everyone has their own theme,” Cooper replies, shaking his head. “That’s what we call aesthetics, in the industry.”

“In the _industry?_ ” scoffs Blaine. “You mean on Tumblr–”

“Kurt, I think your style would really suit Hollywood. Though you’d need to go down a layer or two because of the heat,” Cooper laughs, plucking Kurt’s buttoned sleeve.

“I’ve told him about the layers,” Blaine mutters, watching Kurt’s face out of the corner of his eye. 

Kurt giggles, closing his fingers in a fist to stop himself touching Cooper’s hand. Both of the Anderson brothers are incredibly tactile. Kurt could certainly lose a few layers if Cooper wanted him to. If Blaine wanted him to. If… maybe… they _both_  wanted him to… at the same time… 

He groans softly as the pressure in his dick throbs, completely uncomfortable now that he’s harder than he’s been in recent memory. Shit, shit, _shit…_  now that he’s seen it, seen _them_ , he can’t unsee them–

“Kurt, are you okay?” Pam asks, her presence at the table not doing anything to quell this growing problem.

“I–” Kurt fakes a coughing fit, doubling over as he turns away from the table and grasps the napkin that sits over his lap. He’s probably walking funny when he gets up and makes his way towards the bathroom, but he can’t do anything about that at this point. “I have to use the restroom, excuse me!” 

He’s in the bathroom with his back against the locked door, trying to think of the grossest things he’s ever found in Finn’s laundry to calm himself down so he doesn’t come on himself at the dinner table when he hears a soft knock.

“Kurt?” 

“Blaine,” he gasps in response, instinctively opening the door at the sound of his voice. Kurt finds his boyfriend staring back at him with an agitated mix of concern and annoyance. He knows, now that he’s not sitting directly in Cooper Anderson’s fog, that his behavior is painfully obvious to someone who knows him as well as Blaine does.

“He’s a good-looking guy, I know. He’s older and taller and kind of famous and looks like Superman, and I’m just me, but…” Blaine looks down at Kurt’s crotch and back up again, his glare both dejected and accusatory.

Now, rock-hard and embarrassed with only his boyfriend in his sights, Kurt can’t seem to think of anyone else. Kurt knows that even if the choice were there, he would choose Blaine, and only Blaine, because Blaine, standing in front of him, brooding and pouty with those molten eyes of his as intense as ever, is consuming his body’s focus in a way that Cooper could never accomplish. 

“That’s right, you’re you,” Kurt says, pulling Blaine into the bathroom with a hand around the back of his neck, then closing the door behind him. Blaine’s arms flail almost comically for a moment before he wraps his arms around Kurt’s waist. Kurt presses into his hold and sucks Blaine’s bottom lip into his mouth before his need just _tumbles_  out of him: “It doesn’t matter how hot your brother is because as soon as you walked in I lost whatever chance I had to get it together so once I calm down a little bit can we please skip dessert and fool around in my car before I go home?” Despite what he just said about calming down, Kurt kisses Blaine again, and again, and again, breathless and focused on his insistent dick in that way Kurt once derided before he started having sex with his boyfriend.

Blaine blinks, mouth wide open as his arms wrap tighter around Kurt’s body, and whispers, “But… dessert is _cheesecake_ , Kurt. Mom made _cheesecake._ You really mean it, don’t you?” 

Kurt rubs the tips of their noses together. “Yeah. Sorry I made you think differently.” 

Blaine grins against his cheek, leaving soft kisses down the side of Kurt’s face, then reaches behind himself to lock the bathroom door. He reaches down and opens the top button of Kurt’s jeans, his eyes lighting up with mischief as he whispers, “If we do this right here and now, you can have your cheesecake and eat it too.”

“Blaine, did you seriously just…? Wow, maybe I do want the other brother…”

“Kurt!”

 


	20. thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an Uncharted AU - Blaine & Kurt as Nate & Elena! If you don’t play videogames, Uncharted is a modern Indiana Jones globetrotting summer blockbuster action/adventure thing about a treasure hunter – some would say thief – named Nathan Drake :D
> 
> warning for guns but it’s mostly chill

“You are an arrogant… an arrogant… _frustrating_ person, and I cannot believe you got us into this mess.” Kurt swiftly reloads his revolver, slipping the bullets in with more force than strictly necessary in his anger. They’re in a sewer beneath a busy Colombian street, carefully stepping alongside the water as Smythe’s army searches for them above.

Blaine rolls his eyes so hard that he tilts his head back as he stows his rifle over his shoulder. “I got us into it? Excuse me? You showed up of your own free will, as usual, because you can’t leave well enough alone even though I told you not to follow me to that manor! You would have been perfectly safe staying in our cottage, but–”

“We are MARRIED, you idiot, what was I supposed to do? Leave you there? You were going to escape a burning chateau and a fleet of mercenaries and make it back to the village, without my help, after they blew up OUR Jeep… how, exactly? HOW? And since fucking when do you tell me what to do?”

“I always make it out, you know that! And I was trying to protect you, Kurt, but you insist–”

“For the last time: I am a reporter. An on-the-scene reporter who is damn good at his job and encountered plenty of dangerous situations before I met you! None to this extent, but still. I am not some delicate flower and I do not need your protection, Blaine!”

The soldiers’ footsteps start slowing down above their heads.

“I–I know you’re not, but I was scared, okay?! After Tibet, I just…” Blaine’s irritated expression crumbles as he twists his ring on his finger. They don’t talk about Tibet much, mainly because it upsets Blaine that Kurt still tries to make light of his own near-death in a grenade explosion.

“That’s what scares _me_. You won’t let me make those kinds of choices about my own life, but you keep endangering yours without my input, like we’re not in this together! You–” Kurt’s voice breaks and he stops in his tracks, stowing his gun in its holster and putting a hand on Blaine’s chest, right over his heart. “You can’t… run off and die in some ancient ruins with me none the wiser, you can’t leave me like that. That’s–” he breathes deeply for a moment, determined to keep it together, and says, “That’s a stupid way to die, Blaine Anderson. If I’m there, at least I’ll know I did everything I could.” 

Blaine feels his heart splitting right down the middle. He pulls Kurt close, careful of his holsters, and rubs a gentle hand over the back of his neck. It’s more comforting for himself than it is for Kurt, if he’s honest; they’re both there, solid and real and still in it, side by side. “I’m sorry. I need to start trusting you with these things. I’m at my best when you’re here, you know.”

“I do, honey, that’s what I’m saying,” Kurt replies, rubbing his hands over Blaine’s back.

“THEY’RE HERE!” A loud, gruff voice shouts above them. In their arguing, they’ve accidentally left themselves visible to the soldiers peering through–and now quickly removing–the storm grate overhead.

Blaine looks down the tunnel and sees another storm grate being opened, a pair of heavy black combat boots slipping into view as the soldier drops into the sewer. “Shit… Kurt, it’s too late to run. We’ll have to fight our way out.”

The soldier drops again, only this time, it’s facedown into the foul water as Kurt’s revolver booms next to Blaine’s head. “I know,” Kurt says, stowing the gun in its holster again and pulling another, faster pistol from his hip. “We’ll do it together.”

“I love you,” Blaine sighs, his eyes big and watery as he looks up at his husband and readies his rifle. 

Kurt leans over and quickly pecks Blaine on the lips before he takes his position. “Love you too, babe. Here they come.”


	21. talk show

_“FONDUE FOR TWO! FONDUE FOR TWO! THAT’S ONE HOT DISH! FONDUE FOR TWOOOOOOOO!”_

“Hello! Welcome to a very special, on-location episode of Fondue For Two. My guest today is the one and only Blaine Warbler! There’s no fondue because we can’t put it on his bed.”

Brittany gestures to her left, where Blaine sits against his headboard in his eyepatch and navy silk pajamas. Brittany’s huge tabby, Lord Tubbington, purrs on his lap, nuzzling into Blaine’s scritches on the top of his head. Blaine’s visible left eye blinks slowly, long lashes brushing his cheeks as he watches the cat.

“Thanks for coming over, Britt.”

“I need the scoop, Blaine Warbler, so let’s get right to it. Is Sebastian Warbler still trying to hook up with you?”

Blaine giggles, just a little woozy from his pain medication, and says, “All our last names aren’t Warbler. And…” he sighs, “I’m not a Warbler anymore. I don’t think they’re my friends. I don’t know.”

Brittany nods and looks at the camera. “A sad development, viewers: Blaine has been disowned by his family. Last name to be determined.”

“No, it’s–I have one, it’s Ander–”

“How many times has Kurt said ‘I told you so’ since the Jackson-Off?”

“Zero. He just said he likes that I see the best in people, even when I’m wrong.” 

“That means ‘once,’ viewers,” says Brittany, winking conspiratorially at the camera even as Kurt, off-screen, splutters in protest. ”Follow up questions: does he like the eyepatch, and does he make you talk in a pirate accent?”

_“Brittany!”_

Blaine snorts and holds up a hand to shush his boyfriend. “No, because he doesn’t like that I’m hurt. And… no, he doesn’t ask me to, but I do it sometimes to make him laugh.”

“Do you think the rock salt was an artistic choice to symbolize how salty Sebastian is that you didn’t pick him?”

 _“Absolutely,”_ Kurt cackles.

Blaine giggles until he’s doubled over and Lord Tubbington is meowing up at him in annoyance at being jostled. “Um… maybe a subconscious choice? I don’t think he would admit it if his feelings were hurt. Wow, your cat is really heavy…” 

Brittany lights up, proudly stroking under Lord Tubbington’s chin. “He’s taking his new job as a therapy cat very seriously. He even stopped smoking so he could get extra chubby and fluffy and be more comforting.”

The cat starts purring again at all the petting, settling back into place on Blaine’s lap. “He’s doing a very good job,” says Blaine, rubbing at Lord Tubbington’s ears.

“Do you regret jumping in front of the slushie?”

“I would do it again a heartbeat.” Blaine answers without hesitation.

Kurt’s voice comes in again, off-screen. It’s much thicker this time.  _“Blaine, no…”_

Blaine ignores him and, with his one eye glinting with passion, asks Brittany, “Wouldn’t you? If it were Santana?”

Brittany stares at him in silence for a moment, then snorts, “If I could travel back in time, I would use it to stop Sebastian from throwing the rock salt, not use it to get hurt again. Also, this wouldn’t happen to Santana and me, because Sebastian doesn’t like girls and wouldn’t have had the salty feelings about me loving Santana for him to want to hurt her. And even if he did like girls, Santana and I would have kicked his ass a long time ago. But really, we would never have met Sebastian in the first place, because I wouldn’t have been at Dalton. You met him at Dalton, right?”

Blaine nods, his mouth wide open as he exchanges a glance with Kurt.

“Yeah, see… I don’t have any connections with the Warblers. This would only have happened to you and Kurt.” Then Brittany leans in and whispers, “But if you really want to do this again, I’ll let you use my time machine when I finish it.”

Blaine shakes his head and smiles sadly in Kurt’s direction. “No, I don’t think I will, but thank you.”

 _“You’ve always been the smartest of all of us, Britt.”_ Kurt enters the frame momentarily to kiss Brittany’s cheek, then ducks out again.

“Last question: when are you coming back to school? We miss you.” 

“As soon as I can… You really mean that? You guys miss me?”

Brittany rolls her eyes. “You keep asking silly questions. I hope it’s your meds. Of course we miss you! You’re one of us, especially now that you’re not a Warbler anymore.” She crawls across the bed to hug him, then turns back to the camera. 

Blaine can be seen wiping his wet eye behind her. 

“That’s all for this episode, everyone. Thanks so much to our special guest, Blaine, and our sort-of guest, Kurt. See you next week!”


	22. longing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> diabetic!Blaine - h/c, health scare, hospital stuff, etc, but nothing squicky

Blaine has never been this hungry in his life. Ever. No one has been this hungry, probably, if he doesn’t count actual starving people who don’t have access to food, obviously. He could take a moment to consider how problematic this train of thought is if he weren’t so damn _hungry–_

He can smell the sugar in his snoozing husband’s nonfat mocha. It’s resting on the tray next to Kurt’s chair, to the right of Blaine’s hospital bed, but he can’t easily reach it with his IV. He could just remove it; the glucose drip should be removed soon and it’s not like it has done a damn thing, anyway. If it has, it certainly doesn’t feel like it. Kurt’s mocha would help raise his tanked blood sugar faster, wouldn’t it? 

Blaine shifts to the right in his bed, scooting a little closer to Kurt, minding the IV in his left hand as best he can without actually yanking it out. He reaches a slightly shaky hand towards Kurt, getting as far as Kurt’s drawn, tired face before he can go no farther. “Kurt?” he says, sliding his fingers into Kurt’s hair to wake him. 

Kurt’s eyes pop open immediately, his body jerking to attention. “Mmnh - Blaine? Are you okay? What do you need?” 

“Your mocha.” 

“I’ll call the nur - what?” 

“Can I have some of your mocha? Please?” Blaine grabs Kurt’s hand, but stares intently at the paper cup like a cat watching a squirrel on the windowsill. 

Kurt closes his eyes and sighs into his chest. 

“Liquids work faster, Kurt! You know that!”

“You have liquid glucose being pumped straight into your bloodstream as we speak, Blaine. You’re not getting a fucking latte.” 

Blaine can’t stop the whiny noise that escapes his throat. “They have pizza in the food court. Can I have that?”

“What? No.” 

“Rice Krispie treat from the vending machine?” 

“No!” 

He stares longingly off into space and mumbles, “The bakery opens at 7. Can I have a cronut? What time is it?”

“Blaine, what is wrong with you? You just ate. Do you want me to call for more food?” 

Oh, that won’t do at all. The last nurse had brought him orange juice, a fruit cup, and a pile of vegetables that hadn’t tasted like anything, and he’d chugged the orange juice too fast for it to satisfy him. The sweetest, fattiest foods Blaine can think of keep revolving in his head, the unrelenting craving for _sugar, sugar, and more sugar_ overwhelming him to the point that he’s started getting emotional. “I need… I need food that’s not hospital food. Please, Kurt? _Pleeeeease?_ ”

“They have to raise your levels in a stable way, Blaine, not just jack you up on junk food to make it quick! You’re getting the food the doctors give someone when their blood sugar is completely out of whack and they - they almost - ” Kurt breaks off, his voice cracking near the end. He won’t get the image of Blaine passed out on their kitchen floor out of his head any time soon. “God, Blaine… don’t you dare scare me like this again, I can’t take it.”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine pouts, sniffling. “I won’t, it - it was an accident.” 

“You could have fallen into a diabetic coma. A _coma_ , Blaine. Comas are serious and terrifying and we’re so lucky–”

Blaine pulls Kurt closer, letting Kurt climb into the bed and press his face to Blaine’s chest. “I’m not going anywhere, Kurt, I promise. I won’t slip up again and we’ll keep a closer eye on it from now on.” They lay there for a few moments before Blaine presses a kiss to Kurt’s forehead and asks, “Can you, um… call the nurse and ask him when I can have pizza?”

Kurt surprises himself with his own laughter, chuckling in an exhausted sort of way before he raises his head and rests his chin on Blaine’s chest. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Get me some pizza, hopefully.” 

Kurt rolls his eyes and presses the call button dangling behind Blaine’s bed, then settles back in on Blaine’s chest. “If and when they say it’s okay, then fine. But you’re not getting my mocha.”


	23. panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is based on the horror videogame The Last of Us - zombie apocalypse by way of grotesque fungal pandemic, so watch out!

The Clickers are coming. 

Blaine can hear them loud and clear, the sounds creaking from their throats somewhere between a rusty car door and some feral vermin. This is how they see, and why this particular type of Infected is so named - like the foulest bats, the most disgusting dolphins, they _clickclickclick-screech-sqwAAAWWWK_ until they find their prey. The Clickers are blind and deformed because they have been infected for so long that the Cordyceps fungus has split their heads open, sprouting through their skulls to form huge fungal plates where their faces should be. 

And like all organisms who have to adapt to the loss of one sense, their developments in the others are _acute_. They are fast, and they are strong, and they can hear _everything._

Blaine, pinned down and alone in this rotted hotel corridor after being separated from Kurt, who he has not seen or heard from in an hour, can’t control his breathing. 

Blaine is immune to the fungus. He is the  _only_  person immune to the fungus, as a matter of fact, in the twenty years since the infection first decimated humanity. Someone had to be, at some point. He was born into this hell, and at seventeen years old, he is humanity’s best hope for survival. Whatever happened inside his body that stopped him from turning into an infected monster could save the world, as long as he and Kurt reach the lab. _He is the vaccine._

However… immune or not, he is not invincible. If a Clicker catches him and rips his throat out, his immunity won’t save him. It won’t mean a damn thing. His life, arguably more important than most, will be rendered worthless if the Clickers find him now. This current fear is far more basic than that, though; with or without his mission, he is only seventeen years old and he does not want to die. 

The three Clickers shuffle closer. Blaine closes his mouth, trying to reduce the sounds he’s making, but it only makes him breathe faster, his shorter breaths through his nose still audible to his own ears. He’s afraid to hold his breath because he knows that he will give himself away as soon as he can breathe again. He covers his nose and mouth with one hand, his grip tightening around his hunting knife in case one of these monsters gets close enough and he has the opportunity to strike. 

Blaine spots movement and the tiniest bit of light at the end of the dark corridor. His relief catches him off-guard, and he almost gives himself away before he sucks in his gasp as quietly as he can behind his covered mouth. 

Kurt steps slowly, slowly, _slowly_  down the hall, a bottle with a rag sticking out of it in one hand and his lighter in the other. He raises the lighter above his head as a signal to Blaine, and Blaine raises his hand with the knife in it in response. Whether Kurt’s motivations are rooted in their mission or their increasing affection for each other, they’ve both come to realize that Kurt will do whatever it takes, however crazy it may be, to protect his life, and Blaine would do the same. He knows what Kurt is about to do, and he knows what he’ll have to do if he has any hope of escaping this. 

Kurt looks directly in the center of the area where the Clickers are circling each other like disorderly sharks, his body language calm and focused. With one last glance at Blaine, he lights the rag and tosses the flaming bottle at the Clickers. The molotov cocktail explodes loudly when it hits the ground, fire quickly enveloping one Clicker on impact before it catches a second. The creatures screech and wail, flailing around before they fall. The smell is overwhelming. 

Blaine leaps directly towards the horrible scene, jumping over the two flaming bodies and narrowly avoid the third Clicker before he swings around and lodges his knife into its neck. It struggles, but this is one of the Clickers’ weak points; it screeches just as its monstrous cohorts did, then goes down, blood pooling around its head where it lays. 

He’s about to say something, maybe make a joke to keep himself from breaking down the way he’s been threatening to do all day, but Kurt holds up a hand and shakes his head frantically. Blaine knows what this means, and just as the understanding hits and dread overtakes him, he hears a chorus of telltale clicks and screeches from somewhere nearby. Somewhere far too close. 

Oh… oh, no. 

This old hotel is positively _infested_ with the Infected. And now, following the carnage Kurt and Blaine just wreaked, the Infected know they’re here, too.

Again… they are coming. 

There’s no use trying to hide or sneak away now. Blaine grabs Kurt’s hand and _runs._


	24. darkness

“Are you ready?” 

Kurt has never wanted anything this badly in his life, but he can’t seem to make words at the moment. His breath is loud and ragged in a way he’s too turned on to be self-conscious about, so he swallows and nods his head emphatically until Blaine smiles back at him. 

Blaine reaches over to his nightstand and turns off the lamp, covering them in darkness. 

“Oh, what about you? Am I too heavy? I should have asked before, sorry.” He doesn’t know what he’s doing, though his– _their_ –first time has gone spectacularly so far. His boyfriend is warm and hard underneath him, and so hot, and it’s screwing with his concentration if he’s honest, but he’s trying his best to _be_  his best for Blaine.

“I’m great. It’s okay, Kurt,” Blaine answers, and Kurt feels him lift up a little to kiss him. His lips don’t quite land on target, his kiss right under Kurt’s nose, but he just laughs and slides his mouth a little lower to meet him as intended. 

“Okay. Good. Off with this, then,” Kurt says, gaining a little confidence at the way Blaine’s squeezing his butt eagerly. He pulls at the neckline of Blaine’s tank top. “Off, Blaine. Off.” 

Blaine laughs again, and as he reaches down to grab the bottom of his shirt, Kurt leans in, planning to kiss Blaine’s neck. Neither reaches his destination, as Blaine’s hand collides with Kurt’s chin. 

“Ow!”

“Oh - I couldn’t see you - “

“I’m okay, haha. Moved too quickly I guess. Here, let me just–” Kurt lifts his hips and grabs at Blaine’s waist until he finds the bottom of the shirt, then pulls it up for him. 

“Oh, wow…”

“What?” 

“It’s… I like how it feels when you take my clothes off, instead of me. Keep going?” Blaine raises his arms above his head, and Kurt keeps lifting the shirt until–

“Omph– wait, Kurt, I’m stuck–” Blaine makes a choking noise and Kurt immediately lets go of the shirt, putting his hands on Blaine’s chest. “Shirt was around my neck,” he says, pulling it the rest of the way off himself.

“Sorry!” Kurt slides his hands lower, idly squeezing at the chubby area around Blaine’s belly button. 

Blaine makes a sudden intake of breath and Kurt feels him suck in his stomach a little under Kurt’s hands. “It’s fine,” he says, his voice suddenly way softer and shakier than it was a moment ago. “Um. Your turn.” 

Kurt moves to sit up on his knees just as Blaine sits up to reach for his t-shirt, and misjudging how much space either of them has, Kurt knees Blaine in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

Blaine doesn’t make a sound, but Kurt certainly feels his knee make contact. “Shit, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

He gasps for breath, coughing a little, then finally gropes around in the air until he can grab Kurt’s arm. “I’m… I’m okay.”

“This isn’t working, hold on–” Kurt reaches over and turns the lamp back on.

Blaine crosses his arms over his stomach, still getting his breath back.

“This is much better. I don’t think we need the light off.”

“I dunno, it was okay…” Blaine mumbles, shyly looking up at him.

“We’ll end up hurting each other before we finally fuck each other,” Kurt snorts, his eyes going wide as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

“Kurt!” Blaine gasps, shocked laughter shaking his body. He bites his lip, eyes roving over Kurt’s face as he reaches up and cups Kurt’s cheek–making contact on the first try this time.

Kurt barrels forward, feeling braver by the second, and kisses down Blaine’s palm. “I want to keep the lights on. I want all of this with you and I don’t want to miss anything.” He sits on top of Blaine again, leaning down to kiss at all that warm, tan, gorgeous skin on Blaine’s chest, then looks up at Blaine through his eyelashes and says, “I like being able to see you. You make this hotter.”

He doesn’t know it, but he’s just said exactly what Blaine needs to hear. Blaine completely relaxes underneath him, letting go, letting Kurt look. 

“Now… are _you_ ready?”

Blaine nods wordlessly, intertwining their fingers. Kurt gives him one last kiss on the lips, then resumes his slow trip towards the equator.


	25. bloody

“Oh god, oh god, oh god–” Kurt holds a hand over the lower half of his face, blood dripping as slowly and steadily from his nose as it has for the past minute or so. He doesn’t know why this is happening, but he’s getting blood on his favorite workout sweater and that is _not_  going to come out easily and if he weren’t so freaked out right now he would be _pissed_. He looks a mess in the NYADA bathroom mirror, his panic seemingly making the whole scene worse in the way that his face has gone pale and his hand is shaking.

He looks down, noticing that the blood is now dripping into the sink, and yells, “SHIT!” just as the bathroom door opens. 

“Whoa, are you okay?”

Kurt looks behind himself in the mirror. An incredibly cute boy with big, concerned hazel eyes stares at the blood all over Kurt’s front. 

“I’m not on coke!” blurts Kurt, bowing his head in a futile attempt to hide the blood a bit as he comes closer. 

The boy’s thick, dark eyebrows raise to points. “Okay. Wow. Uh. I wasn’t going to suggest you were. I figured you’d fallen at dance practice. I mean, you look like you dance a lot.” The boy quickly looks up and down Kurt’s lean, taut figure, shrugging sheepishly as he goes. 

“Musical theatre, but– thanks? I–I don’t know what’s happening, my nose just started bleeding for no reason, I’m– I don’t know–”

“Shhh, shhh, sweetheart, it’s okay. Relax.” The boy puts a hand on Kurt’s shoulder, squeezing gently, and Kurt feels his stomach erupt with tingles and fuzzies at his touch. Kurt’s a sucker for pet names, too, though he hates to admit it. “It’s just a nosebleed. They happen sometimes.” 

“But I’ve never had one, I don’t think–what if something’s wrong with me? I don’t–” 

The boy lets go of him for a moment to grab some toilet paper. “No no no, you’re all right. Here, I’m just gonna…” He scrunches the toilet paper and holds it to Kurt’s bleeding nostril, stopping the flow, then instructs him, “Hold that right there, okay? Keep your head tilted back.”

“O-okay,” Kurt says, tilting his nose towards the ceiling. He lets the boy shift him to the next sink over with a firm but gentle hold on his arms and a sweet, encouraging smile. Kurt leans against the porcelain and takes a deep breath through his mouth, watching the boy turn on the faucet and splash some water around to quickly clean up the blood in the sink. 

“Nosebleeds just happen sometimes. Usually because of extra-dry air,” the boy explains. “I know some of these old studios can get like that. The ones not meant for singing classes, anyway, those have humidifiers. But the freezing air outside isn’t helping. Your sinuses probably just got a little messed up.”

“I should be used to cold air,” Kurt chuckles, his voice a bit thick with one of his nostrils stopped up. “I’m from Ohio. Winter is brutal there, too.” 

The boy grins to himself and says, “It sure is.” Then he wets a paper towel, puts a finger under Kurt’s chin, and goes to work on the blood that’s already on his face. “Just–lift your hand a bit for me? Perfect. You’re doing great, we’re almost done.” 

Kurt feels his ears getting hot with the blush that hasn’t quite made it to his face. “I’m assuming your name isn’t ‘Angel,’ but I’m not sure what else I should call you.”

He laughs, his eyes crinkling adorably as he glances away. “No, it isn’t… It’s Blaine. Nice to meet you.” 

“I’m glad you’re here. I was really freaked out,” Kurt admits. “And thank you for not making me feel like an idiot.”

“Impossible, you’re brilliant, Kurt,” Blaine mutters, cleaning up one last stubborn spot of dried blood in Kurt’s stubble. 

“I didn’t tell you my name.” 

Now it’s Blaine’s turn to blush, and furiously so. He’s quiet for a moment, wilting a little under Kurt’s arched eyebrow, before he says, “I, um… I might have, maybe seen you around school a–a few times. And, um. Asked our mutual friend about you.” 

“Let me guess: Rachel Berry?”

“Artie Abrams. We met at an open house for NYU. You’re in a bunch of his Facebook pictures. But I didn’t stalk _your_  page, I promise! I wanted to ask someone who actually knew you. Do I get any of my creeper points reduced for that, at least?” 

Kurt laughs, charmed despite his initial feelings about this development. “Well… you seem sincere enough. And Artie’s one of my favorite people, so…Nice to meet you, too.” 

Blaine visibly sighs with relief. “Great! I mean–nice to meet you too. Oh, I already said that…” 

Oh god, Kurt’s already spiraling. He grins, biting his bottom lip, and asks, “Can I take the tissue out now?”

“Yeah, it should have stopped.” 

It has. Kurt crinkles his nose, wiping his now-dry nostril, and turns to check his reflection. He beams at Blaine in the mirror as he says, “Perfect. Thank you so much.” 

“I’m glad I could help.” Blaine takes the tissue from him and tosses it in the trash. 

“I’ve got to get going, but… I’ll see you around?”

“Of course, Kurt.” Blaine covers his face with both hands. “I mean–yeah, if you want. I–I’m just going to stop talking now. See you, Kurt.” 

It takes every ounce of Kurt’s self-control not to laugh–not unkindly, it’s just that Blaine is so _cute–_ and further Blaine’s mortification. Instead, he chooses to put Blaine out of his misery, sliding his phone out of his pocket as he quietly leaves the bathroom. 

Blaine’s still standing there with his hands over his burning face when his own phone buzzes a moment later. 

**_Kurt Hummel sent you a friend request._ **


	26. twisted

“Okay, just… sit still, baby. I’m almost done.”

“But Da- _ddyyyy_ , you’re taking _foreverrrr_ … ” Stella groans, her whole five-year-old body slumping in her chair with feigned exhaustion. “Papa can do this in five seconds!”

Blaine rolls his eyes, twisting a lock of Stella’s long brown hair around his fingers as he continues trying to french-braid it. Kurt usually does this, simply because he took up the task one day and never stopped, and Blaine feels he was misled when he was told that this was easy. He and Stella have now been in the kitchen trying to get this done for a good twenty minutes. “Papa is amazing, but I seriously doubt he can do this in five seconds.” 

“Okay, ten seconds! Daddy, this is _A MILLION SECONDS_. This is _FOREVER_.” 

Blaine picks up his phone from the kitchen table and does a few quick conversions. “A million seconds is eleven days, baby. If I took eleven days, you would have missed the birthday party already.”

“I _AM_ gonna miss the party, Daddy!” Stella tilts her head back to look up at him, her big blue eyes narrowing and her upturned nose scrunching in a way that’s frighteningly similar to Kurt. “Do you know what you’re doing? I don’t think you know what you’re doing. Text Papa.” 

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. No, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but as one of her fathers, he’s not going to tell her that. Nor does he want to tell his husband that he couldn’t figure out how to do their daughter’s hair. Thankfully, he’s at the end of the second braid, so he twists it up and pins it in place in the opposite direction of the first, in a braided halo as requested. It looks… well, it could look worse, but it should be passable. Right?

“Okay, I’m finished.” 

Stella hops out of her chair and runs to the nearby bathroom to inspect it. Blaine waits with bated breath for the verdict, until–

She emerges from the bathroom with her whole face scrunched up, clearly displeased, with both of her little hands on top of her head. Stella’s mouth twists, and twists, her pout deepening… then she sniffles, quietly…

Oh god. Oh god, no, nonononono, that is Blaine’s least favorite face and his least favorite noise and the shame of failure is washing over him already. “Shhh, it’s– it’ll be fine, Stella, please don’t cry–”

Stella bursts into tears just as Kurt turns the lock and walks into the apartment, cheerfully greeting his little family with a smile. “Sorry I’m late! Who’s ready for a birthday– oh. Jesus. What’s wrong, honey?” Kurt rushes over to her, kneeling down to her eye-level and glancing back at Blaine with a bewildered look on his face. “Aren’t you excited for–” He looks up at Stella’s hands, still covering her hair, then slowly and silently turns back around to his husband, trying not to laugh as he mouths, _Seriously?_

“Look, when you said to give her a halo braid, you didn’t say that meant I had to do… I don’t know, freaking origami with her hair!”

“P-Papa, Daddy messed it up, it’s so _ugly_!” Stella cries, looking at the floor. 

Blaine takes another look at his handiwork and winces. Okay, so maybe both braids are crooked, and maybe one of the braids is thicker than the other, and maybe one of the braid’s ends is sticking straight up from the side of Stella’s head like a wonky antenna, but it isn’t _ugly_ by any means, because she’s his baby girl and no part of her could be ugly. Regardless, making her feel that way sends a sharp stab of guilt into Blaine’s stomach. “I’m sorry, baby.”

Kurt giggles, unable to stop himself, which only makes Stella stamp her foot and yell, “IT’S NOT FUNNY!”

“Stella, it’s fine. We’ll redo it. It’ll take, like, five seconds.” 

“That’s not how long it takes, stop telling her that,” Blaine mutters. 

Kurt shakes his head, wiping Stella’s cheeks with his thumbs, and goes on, “Stella, honey, we understand why you’re upset, but this wasn’t Daddy’s fault. This isn’t the easiest hairdo, and I didn’t show him how to do it. That wasn’t fair to him.”

She sniffles, her tears slowing as she looks back and forth between her parents, finally settling back on her Papa with that narrowed, blue-eyed glare. “You let him do this to me?” 

Blaine’s the one who has to conceal his laughter now. His failings as a hairstylist aside, he can’t wait to tell Rachel about this. They have the most melodramatic child in Brooklyn.

Kurt’s not even trying to hide it as he pulls Stella close and laughs into her hair. “Yes, I did. I’ll just fix it now, so we can get to the party, but we can show Daddy how to do all your favorite hairstyles later, okay?” 

Stella finally smiles and nods at him, walking over to Blaine and holding her arms out to hug him. He gets on one knee so she can wrap her arms around his neck, and she kisses his cheek and says, “Sorry I yelled, Daddy. You didn’t mean to make it ugly.” 

“I appreciate that, Stella, thank you,” he says, shaking his head at Kurt over her shoulder as Kurt reaches in to start unpinning her hair. 

In the end, Blaine is right: it doesn’t take Kurt five seconds to complete the hairstyle, or even ten. 

It only takes him thirty-seven.


	27. unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set during Halloween 2011, AKA the infamous Jersey Shore couple costume. gender shenanigans afoot, just fyi

Blaine’s not sure what he’s feeling right now. 

Kurt, wearing nothing but his briefs and a pair of black tights, stands in front of his bedroom’s full-length mirror with a small black bra in his hands. His shimmery dress and faux-fur coat lay on the bed behind him. “I don’t know, do you think it’s necessary?” 

“Well…” Blaine tears his eyes away from where the waistband of the tights nips in Kurt’s waist. “Snooki has boobs, Kurt.”

“Yeah, but I’ll have the fur coat on, too. Even if I stuff the bra, you’ll barely be able to see. Eh, I think I can get away without it. Pass me my dress?”

Blaine complies, trading Kurt for the bra, and Kurt slips the dress on over his head. It hits around mid-thigh; when Kurt slides his feet into the black platform pumps waiting on the floor next to him and bends over to strap them, the dress rises in the back, leaving his strong thighs on display. Then he turns around, asking, “What do you think?” and Blaine’s mouth goes dry. 

 _That face._ Kurt has smoky makeup around his eyes, their oceanic color positively _devastating_ when framed this way. His false eyelashes are dark and dramatic, brushing the tops of his high cheekbones, which are dusted with blush. His lips look even softer and plumper than usual with a coat of pink gloss. Blaine’s heart is pounding in his chest at the sight of him so feminized and _pretty_. 

Blaine is… kind of confused at the moment. He’s gay. He knows he’s gay. They’ve been down this road before. But when he thought he liked Rachel, it was nothing like this. This is new. This is the unknown, the gray area he’d never considered, despite all the introspection and searching he _thought_  he’d done on this subject. 

“Blaine?” 

“Um.” He clears his throat, his eyes still roving over Kurt’s masc/fem figure in front of him, from the shape his legs take when propped up on his heels to the way the dress material rests on his broad shoulders. Blaine knows Kurt is adamant about his own male identity, despite the way he likes to play with gendered clothing, and Blaine isn’t sure what would offend him. He’s also a little nervous to admit his current feelings to Kurt, considering how well Kurt took the idea of him liking girls _last time_ , but… does this even mean he likes girls? Blaine thinks girls are beautiful, but he doesn’t see Kurt as a girl right now, either, just his boyfriend in pretty makeup and a pretty dress and heels. Maybe he’s attracted to a gender that isn’t so cut and dry. Does bisexuality fit here? Does it have to?

“Blaine, what is it?” Kurt turns to examine himself in the mirror. “Do I look that bad?”

“No, no, you look gorgeous,”Blaine answers, shaking himself from his thoughts and retrieving Kurt’s long black wig from his vanity table. When Kurt slips it on, tossing his head back and smoothing the straight strands on either side of his face, the transformation is complete. He turns his head left and right to look at himself, his posture slowly shifting as he goes, his lips going pouty and a sassy sway overtaking his hips.

“I don’t think I’ve told you today how lucky I am to have such a hot boyfriend,” Blaine says, crossing his bare arms over his muscle tee and grinning at Kurt’s apparent satisfaction with his look. 

Kurt spins on his heels, one hand resting on his cocked hip as the other twirls a lock of hair around his fingers. His voice takes on a distinct (and terrible) Jersey accent when he snaps back, “Likewise, but who you callin’ a boy?” 

Oh. Okay. 

“Nobody, babe, I’m just playin,’” Blaine replies, putting on an accent to match. He leans in to kiss her, his Snooki, and she turns her face with an aggravated scoff. 

“If you think I’m lettin’ you mess up my lipstick, you don’t know who the hell you’re dealin’ with.” 

He doesn’t know a lot of things, but he’s enjoying this, so it’s whatever.

Kurt–Snooki–grabs his hand and marches them out of the room. “Alright, we gotta go snatch the good candy before all those little rugrats out there get it first.” 

Blaine can’t resist, not with this excited rush going through his chest at everything that’s happening right now: he kisses her hand and laughs, “That’s my girl. Less’go!”


	28. hair

“I can’t believe I’ve never seen it like this,” Kurt murmurs, reaching across the back seat of the car to slip his fingertips into the curls around Blaine’s ear. Rachel and Finn, still buzzing over their prom court wins, are chattering away in front now that Rachel’s shock has worn off and she’s got her usual command of her tongue back. “A whole year together, best friends for longer, and I’ve never seen it. How did that happen?”

Blaine shrugs sheepishly, hiding an embarrassed grimace in the corner of his mouth as he says, “I’m good at hiding it. I should have copied you; a top hat was so smart to beat the gel ban.” 

Kurt looks down at said top hat, resting in his lap since the car roof is too low for him to wear it. He runs a hand through his thick, mostly straight hair, which currently sits on top of his head in a tousled mess, a few locks falling over his forehead. “I could have gone without it,” he says, “if I _really_  wanted to commit to this laid-back, rockstar aesthetic. Sometimes I can’t help adding a touch of dandy.” 

“You’d still look good without it, though. You didn’t _need_  a hat.” Blaine keeps patting his hair every few seconds like he doesn’t know he’s doing it.

“Neither do you, Blaine, you look amazing. You always look amazing.” Kurt unbuckles his seatbelt to move closer, slipping into the middle area of the seat and putting the top hat next to him. 

“Kurt, seatbelt!” Finn yells, his crown slipping a little on his head as he looks into the rearview mirror. The seatbelt icon on the driver console started blinking and beeping as soon as Kurt moved seats. “They never let me drive the car, please, just be cool–”

“Relax, Finn, Jesus… I’m buckled in again, okay? Watch the road.” 

“Thanks.” 

Kurt shakes his head, more amused than annoyed, then turns back to his boyfriend. He scoots in as closely as possible, wrapping his arms around Blaine’s arm and resting his chin on Blaine’s shoulder to gaze adoringly at him. “I love your hair like this. What don’t you like about it?” 

Blaine fidgets a bit in his seat, patting his hair again. “It’s so… big.”

“My hair is also big.” Kurt ruffles it, and as short, thick hair tends to do, most of the strands remain in an upward direction. 

“It’s frizzy.” 

“We live in a Great Lakes state, Blaine. Humidity happens. But you could have learned to control the frizz by now if you’d just let it be.”

“It’s too curly.”

“White people told you that.” 

Blaine snorts and doubles over laughing, as far as his seatbelt will allow. “Oh my god…”

Kurt giggles, reclaiming his spot against Blaine’s shoulder once he settles back again. “When Mercedes and I started hanging out, and I said something… without perspective, we’ll call it… that’s what she’d say. Bright pink lipstick isn’t flattering on her? Coach Sue’s body restrictions for the Cheerios are reasonable? The color ‘nude’ is a shade of peachy beige? ‘Kurt, baby, white people told you that.’”

“We don’t hang out with her enough anymore.” 

“We really don’t. Anyway, those beauty ideals are bullshit, Blaine. You can have your curls and still be the most attractive guy I know. You _are_. AND,” Kurt says, wagging a finger in Blaine’s face as he opens his mouth to speak, “before you even go there, because I know you want to… That includes Cooper. Cooper’s hair doesn’t matter.”

Blaine searches Kurt’s eyes, his expression still a little hesitant. “Really?”

Kurt kisses Blaine’s temple and digs his hand deeper into Blaine’s curls. “It’s your body, so do what you want with it. But just know that I’m attracted to you no matter what, and I’d love to see you like this more often, if you’re okay with letting me.” He scoots in closer, putting his lips to Blaine’s ear, and whispers, “Maybe the next time we get a night alone, hmm?” 

The feeling of Kurt’s fingers massaging his scalp and Kurt’s warm lips and breath on his ear sends a shiver down Blaine’s spine. When he finally looks over at him, he can’t deny it; Kurt looks like he wants to jump into his lap right then and there in the back of the car. 

Blaine turns and puts his own hand into Kurt’s hair – a special treat for him, too, since Kurt is usually so fond of the world’s stiffest hairspray – and watches the way his eyes slide shut like a purring cat’s. “Okay, Kurt. I think we can work something out.”


	29. kiss-cam

Blaine stares, open-mouthed, at his phone, his forkful of pancakes hovering halfway to his mouth. “Baby? Have you… um, have you looked at Santana’s snap story yet this morning?” 

Kurt yawns and sits down next to him at the kitchen table, clutching his coffee mug in front of him. “No, Blaine, it’s 8 AM and I don’t have quite the obsessive relationship with Snapchat that you do. Can you just show me on yours?” He leans towards Blaine with his eyes closed and his chin on his hand. 

Blaine snorts and shakes his head. “Promise you won’t faceplant and drop your coffee on me?”

“That was one time. Ass.” Kurt scoots his chair over, setting the coffee down on the table before he rests his head on Blaine’s shoulder. “Okay. Let’s see what’s so important this early.”

_11h: Mercedes, Sam, Rachel, Artie, Blaine, Kurt, and Santana (with only her arm visible) all stand in the kitchen of the loft with champagne flutes raised, singing a rendition of “Happy Birthday” to Elliot that’s more in-tune than most. Santana zooms in on Elliot’s sweet, embarrassed smile._

_11h: Rachel lifts her empty champagne flute above her head and screams, “LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!” as Elliot frantically shakes his head at everyone else and insists, “No, I said this is a chill thing!” The camera shakes with Santana’s laughter, “SMH” stamped on top of the snap in giant white letters._

“I’m proud of us all for listening to him,” Kurt muses, yawning again. “You know how we party.”

_10h: Santana’s on the couch taking a selfie video with Elliot, sparkly, golden star crowns filtered onto their heads. The caption reads, “you could never. lbvs”_

_9h: Rachel does a little dance next to the piano and sing-asks, “Who wants to do a little dinner theatre?” before the camera flips to selfie-view, showing Santana’s disgusted face with the frown filter over it._

_9h: The camera is so close and zoomed in to Santana’s face that only her mouth is visible as she hisses, “When I get to hell, Rachel Berry will be standing at the gates with a fucking karaoke machine.”_

_8h: Blaine stands with his back to the camera, chatting with Sam. Santana zooms in on his ass. The screen is littered with peach emojis._

“That is Oscar-winning cinematography.”

Blaine rolls his eyes but says nothing, waiting for the next snap, the important snap–

_7h: Santana’s slowly spinning in place with the camera in selfie mode, showing everyone spread around the loft as soft music plays from the stereo. She stops in place, her dark, perfectly-lined eyes going wide as a gleeful grin spreads across her face. She zooms in on a spot a little ways behind her, where Kurt and Blaine are curled up against the arm of the couch, softly kissing each other._

Kurt’s sleepy voice vibrates against Blaine’s shoulder as he snuggles closer against Blaine’s side. “Aw, that’s it? She caught us kissing? We look really sweet, this is noth–”

_7h: Kurt presses harder into the kiss, Blaine’s hand going to his ass to steady himself as he pulls Kurt closer. The only part of Santana they can see is her right eye and half of a devilish smile._

_7h: The video is a little sharper and Santana is gone, the camera flipped to film them directly. Neither notice. Blaine squeezes around his handful and Kurt quite obviously reacts, the camera zooming in on him slipping his tongue into Blaine’s mouth as his hips nudge forward. Santana has put “WANKY!!!!!!” and a water emoji over the snap._

Blaine hears Kurt’s breath hitch, his grip tightening around Blaine’s arm, but Blaine doesn’t look at him just yet. Kurt is so private, especially where intimacy is concerned, and Blaine doesn’t think he can bear to see Kurt’s face flushing in humiliation right now.

_7h: Blaine’s hand wraps possessively around the back of Kurt’s neck, and Kurt tilts his head back, letting Blaine go where he wants. Blaine slides his lips down to Kurt’s adam’s apple and sucks for a moment before giving him a gentle nip with his teeth. They can’t hear it, but Kurt’s lips form rather clearly around a soft, “Fuck,” as he shivers in Blaine’s arms and grabs a fistful of his shirt._

The fact that he can still do that to Kurt puts a little rush of pride in Blaine’s chest, but he forces himself not to look too pleased when Kurt mutters, “Oh my God,” and lifts his head from Blaine’s shoulder. The loss of Kurt’s warmth just makes Blaine nervous; he’s about to say something when–

_7h: Santana’s in the frame again, fanning herself and trying not to make a sound to alert Kurt and Blaine. Then her eyes light up and the camera switches back to them. Kurt has slid his hand between them, fingers flexing against Blaine’s chest. His exact movements aren’t visible, but Blaine suddenly melts against him, his hand moving from the back of Kurt’s head to grip the couch next to Kurt’s head. Blaine’s hiding his face in Kurt’s neck now, Kurt kissing his reddening ear with a smug little grin._

Blaine can feel himself stiffen in his pajama pants as he remembers the sensation of Kurt pressing and pinching his nipples. Knowing how Kurt must be feeling right now makes the guilt swift and all-encompassing, so he says, “I don’t know who else has seen these already, but we can ask her to–”

“We’re so hot,” Kurt croaks, his voice scratchy as he watches himself grab Blaine’s hand and drag Blaine out of the living room. “I’ve never watched us like this before. C-can you save these?”

Blaine turns to look at him in surprise and finds Kurt gaping at the phone in definite interest, his face flushed for a much different reason than Blaine thought he’d be, his eyes gone dark and dilated.“Kurt?” he laughs, relieved and aroused and confused all at once. He doesn’t hesitate to follow when Kurt mimics his snap-story self, abandoning his untouched coffee to pull Blaine out of his seat.

“I’m awake now. Let’s go back to bed.”


	30. neck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This actually belongs in my vampire!Kurt/werewolf!Blaine verse! If you haven't read the Wax verse, just FYI - Kurt develops the ability to read minds.

_Oh my god, he’s so cute,_ Blaine thinks, his hand on the curtain that sections their area off from the rest of the loft. He moves silently around the room so as not to wake Kurt up; he’s fast asleep in their bed, cuddled around a boyfriend pillow - the infamous boyfriend pillow, Bruce, which a lonely Kurt had bought while they were broken up and has since revealed to Blaine as his guilty pleasure on nights when he’s feeling clingy.

 _It’s technically a “fiancé pillow” now_ , Blaine thinks with amusement. He never makes fun of Kurt for it; their school and work schedules are completely different, and nights when they get home at the same time are rare. They certainly pine for each other more often than not.

Blaine sets his bag in the desk chair and starts stripping down to his underwear, quietly dropping his clothes in the laundry hamper. He glances back at Kurt, who’s snuggled even tighter around the pillow. As Blaine removes his layers, Kurt starts snuffling into the pillow, rubbing his nose against it.

_I wish I never had a reason to leave him. I’d spend forever in that bed if he asked me to._

Kurt’s eyebrows raise, then furrow, and he sighs in his sleep, mumbling something that sounds like, “Blurn…”

Blaine’s heart jolts a little at that, a delighted grin spreading across his face. He keeps his mouth shut, focusing on his adorable fiancé as he thinks, _Kurt?_

“Urmph… Blaine…” 

_Can you hear me, Kurt?_

“Mishew….” 

Assuming that he means “miss you,” Blaine steps closer to the bed, his stomach fluttering with affection. _I’m right here_.

Kurt licks his lips, his mouth dropping open as his fangs elongate from his gums. “Okay,” he says. Then, to Blaine’s total surprise, he grips the pillow in his fists and bites down at the top of its shirt, where a neck would be. He lets out a confused little whine, sinking his fangs in further and gnawing on the pillow for a moment before he seems to realize that his mouth is full of cotton. “Blaine…?”

Blaine swallows his laughter and slides into his side of the bed. He pulls the fiancé pillow from Kurt’s clutches with a fair amount of difficulty - though they both have superhuman strength, Kurt is the stronger of the two when Blaine’s in human form. _Right here, Kurt. I’m home_ , he thinks, dropping the pillow over the side of the bed and putting himself in its place. He lies on his back, leaving his neck exposed, then reaches up and runs a thumb over Kurt’s bottom lip.  

Kurt’s arm slides across his chest, his hand finding Blaine’s heart right away. He makes a pleased humming noise and snuggles closer, sighing happily against his skin. “Mmm… iss’you. You’re warm.”

_Are you hungry?_

The reply is a neutral grunt.

Blaine would be perfectly happy to let Kurt bite him now, but Kurt has always taken feeding consent deathly seriously; it goes both ways, and Blaine’s laissez-faire attitude about it doesn’t change that. He kisses Kurt, careful to avoid the fangs, and thinks, _Open your eyes, baby._

Kurt’s response is immediate, his completely blacked-out eyes popping open with a few sleepy blinks. “You’re home,” he says, carefully covering his fangs with his lips to kiss him.

“Yeah, I’m home. Did you want something to eat before I go to sleep?” 

Kurt’s gaze drifts down to Blaine’s neck. He runs a finger over the small, permanent bruise where he usually feeds from Blaine, considering it, then says, “Nah, it can wait until morning.” His fangs slide back into his gums, and soon, his eyes have returned to blue-green and Blaine can see the whites again.

“Are you sure? You can take some now, if you want.”

“Hmm… I’m sure. Just snuggles now, thanks.” Kurt wraps around him the same way he’d been wrapped around Bruce, burying his face in Blaine’s neck.

 _Whatever you want, Kurt,_ Blaine thinks, settling into the cuddle and pressing a kiss to Kurt’s forehead.

“Ugh, be _quiet_ , Blaine. I’m trying to _sleep_.”


	31. wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This actually belongs to my Skank!Kurt/Cheerio!Blaine verse! Takes place between Chapters 1 and 2 ("Throw Away the Key" and "Cuffed"), when the boys have just properly met each other.

****

Blaine hadn’t prepared for this scenario when Puck called him over to the bleachers, not while he was plucking up the courage to finally _say something_ to Kurt instead of just pining after him from afar. His mind is racing, trying to figure out what to do next now that this boy has completely blindsided him. He’s asked Kurt out for coffee, flirted with him, offered to loan him his clothes, for fuck’s sake– 

But now they’re here, still alone under the bleachers, resting in a tense little patch of quiet. Kurt Hummel – _the_  Kurt Hummel, the tall, gorgeous, pierced and pink-haired Skank with the piercing blue stare and lightning wit, Kurt Hummel, the walking thunderstorm who Blaine has been scared to talk to for weeks – is in Blaine’s arms, pinned between Blaine’s chest and the bars of the bleachers behind him. They’re just standing there, staring at each other as Kurt’s jeans dangle from the bars by an old pair of handcuffs, neither knowing what to say. 

Blaine often finds himself several steps ahead of where he’d planned to be, following instinct even as it overrides sense. And now that he’s here, now that Kurt has flipped the script and put them in this position, it feels as though Blaine’s bravado has run out. Kurt is… well, ‘wild’ is the only word coming to mind, bucking all convention and all of Blaine’s attempts to be suave and confident, letting Blaine pull him out of his own clothing and leave it there as a means of escape rather than tracking Puck down for the keys, as though that was the obvious, sensible thing to do.

Maybe it was. Blaine doesn’t know. Something has ignited here, something he couldn’t have expected no matter how much he’s daydreamed about Kurt and what he would be like ever since the first day he saw him. Blaine can’t put his finger on it. He knows absolutely nothing about Kurt, except that the mere sight of a person has never been so… so…

Kurt smirks at him with a bemused little arch to his neat eyebrows. “Anderson?”

Blaine snaps to attention, realizing at that moment that while he’s been spaced out and pondering his feelings, he’s also been clutching Kurt’s waist as though he’s the one in a vulnerable position here. Kurt, still casually leaning against the bars with no pants on and with his hands casually resting on Blaine’s shoulders, doesn’t seem fazed by any of this. 

“Second-guessing that coffee?” Kurt asks, tilting his head and laughing softly. 

Blaine’s too deep in his own head to hear Kurt’s nerves. His own laugh is self-deprecating when he replies, “Hey, cut me some slack. You just… surprised me. I promise, no take-backs.”

Kurt shrugs and pushes himself off the bars, slipping past Blaine as he walks back towards the school. “If you insist,” he calls over his shoulder, pulling off his gray hoodie and tying it around his waist to cover himself. “Come on, Anderson, before I change _my_  mind.” 

It’s a strange sensation, Blaine muses, for the storm and the lighthouse to be one in the same. He follows Kurt out from under the bleachers, grinning to himself at the thought. He’s being dramatic, and he knows that, but he also knows that something thrillingly, _frighteningly_ real is happening here. He can feel it.


	32. flustered

The Warblers are appropriately somber as the final notes of “Blackbird” ring through the council room, though no one seems to know what to say. In the ensuing silence, Kurt sniffles, tears pouring down his face and his voice tight when he says, “Thank you,” to the room at large. Everyone stays quiet for another beat or two, until Wes, looking at his folded hands on the desk, nods to himself and says, “A fitting farewell for our dearly departed Pavarotti.”

No one is looking at Kurt - not awkwardly, just politely, out of respect for his grief - but they all murmur in agreement with Wes’ sentiment.

Blaine, on the other hand, can’t stop looking at Kurt. He says nothing.

“Warblers, I think it’s only appropriate that we reconvene at tomorrow’s meeting,” Wes announces, banging his gavel with finality before standing up from the council table. “Kurt, please let the council know if you need anything.”

“That goes for all of us,” Nick adds. 

Kurt thanks everyone again as they begin to file out of the room, but when he looks up, his eyes go directly to Blaine.

If Blaine speaks, he might just start babbling, or crying in sympathy, or worse. So he just breathes, trying to keep himself together in the wake of this… discovery? Revelation? Wake-up call? Whatever this is, it’s overwhelming, consuming all his senses as his mind, body, and heart finally seem to come to an agreement:

_Kurt._

They are the last two in the room.

Kurt walks slowly towards him, rubbing his thumb along the edge of his “Blackbird” cassette tape before he slips it into his back pocket. He looks like an angel of death in a comic book in Blaine’s eyes, light and dark, elegant and beautiful in the way that lightning is elegant and beautiful. His sweet face is so sad, and still wet from crying, but he gives Blaine a soft smile when he reaches him.

“So… did we decide on the blazer piping issue for Sectionals? Did you even get it on the table yet, before I halted the proceedings?”

Blaine blinks, the question confusing in its distance from his current train of thought. What blazers? He couldn’t give two shits about a blazer right now. “I… uh.”

“I mean,” Kurt goes on, shrugging one shoulder and swiping delicately across his cheeks with the side of his hand, “I agree with you, that the Warblers could use a little shake-up. The issue is that the reversed color scheme just isn’t as aesthetically pleasing. Doing something different for the sake of it is usually a good thing, but not at the expense of style.” 

“Uh. Here. “ Blaine hands Kurt a handkerchief from his bag, which Kurt takes with a grateful nod of his head before dabbing carefully under his eyes. “I… yeah.” 

Kurt peers at Blaine from behind the handkerchief with a little frown. “Look, I know that was… a dramatic eulogy, for a bird, but I needed to do it. Pavarotti was important to me.”

“No, I – that’s not it. I’m just… having, um, a… a moment? It’s not–”

He can’t say, _It’s not you, it’s me._ It’s Kurt, all right. Everything is Kurt, and Blaine feels like an idiot for not understanding that sooner.

_Kurt._

“That was perfect.” It’s the most honest thing Blaine can allow himself to say while the rest of his feelings are still tumbling around inside him. He has to adjust to this clarified sight. 

“Oh. Well… thank you,” Kurt says, reaching out to hand Blaine his handkerchief. 

Blaine gently pushes Kurt’s hand back towards him and says, “Keep it.” He notes, with a little jolt of pleasure, that Kurt clutches the tiny scarf against his chest with both hands like a token, smiling down at it for a moment before he looks back up at Blaine with those piercing, wet blue eyes. 

Blaine isn’t sure this is the smartest thing to do in his current state, but he asks, “Do you want company? We could… watch a movie or something. Or… um, I don’t know.” 

“Oh, thank you for the offer, but no. I need some time to myself now, if that’s all right.” 

“Of course it’s all right, Kurt. Whatever you need.” Blaine’s heart aches for him. 

_Kurt._

“I’ll see you in the morning. Feel free to text me if you want.” 

Blaine definitely wants. “Yeah. I’ll… see you.”

Kurt gives him a funny look, bemused by his awkward behavior, but he grins and waves the hand with the handkerchief in it as he leaves the room.

Blaine just stands there for a few more minutes, pressing his palms together in front of his face as the words for what he needs to express start to sort themselves out in his head.

He suddenly has a lot more to put on the council table than those silly blazers.


	33. skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D/s in this one! but nothing intense if that's an issue, just some aftercare musings :)

“Kurt?” 

He feels Blaine’s lips on his forehead. His nose. For all its softness, the fleeting sensation awakens something in his consciousness, slowly but surely bringing him back from  _that place_ , that dark and quiet place that took so long for him to find but cradled him so completely when he finally did. 

He’d thought, for a time, with mounting disappointment, that something was wrong when they first started this, that maybe these scenes weren’t something that would work for him. He’d thought that his therapist was wrong, that he was as dominant a personality as he always thought, that using the reverse as a way to deal with his anxiety was ludicrous. The way he’d seen this described in his research had led him to believe the sensations would be different. Subspace was supposed to be so much deeper. So much more.

But, no… it’s not always immediate, others said. Take your time. Learn each other in this context. Ease into it. A little more, a little further. Letting go can be tough. There you go. Trust your dom. Trust yourself. Peace will find you.

And sure enough… it did. Blaine protected him, and he pushed him. Listened, then ordered. He learned to take control as Kurt learned to give it. 

The blindfold was the key, they decided. Kurt’s first full sink into subspace didn’t occur until they finally tried it, Blaine presenting Kurt with the smooth black silk as Kurt lay spread on their bed, wrists bound, watching Blaine intently. Letting go when he could see everything that was happening to him was one thing; trusting Blaine blindly was another. 

But Kurt had looked into Blaine’s eyes, strong and loving and unwavering in their gaze, and said, “Yes, please,” before closing his own eyes and allowing Blaine to blindfold him. Blaine had praised him, told him that he was doing so well, and given him a deep, biting kiss without warning that left Kurt panting softly as his body keened towards his husband but was unable to follow. 

The resulting warmth and tranquility, once the scene had continued a little longer and Kurt had finally  _let go_ , caught them both by surprise.

Kurt had come up from that session much the way he’s coming back now. Blaine massages Kurt’s wrists, a little sore from the restraints, as he sits against their headboard with Kurt curled up skin-to-skin against his chest. He has already cleaned them both off, gentle wipes clearing the come from their bodies long before Kurt is ever aware of it.

Kurt returns slowly, his mind blissfully empty of everything except the way his body feels against Blaine’s. That was all he’d known when he was under, his consciousness sinking so fully that coming back from that space now takes more time than falling into it, on those days when he needs it most. 

The blindfold remains on. Kurt requested, a few scenes ago, that it be the last bit of their play Blaine removes before they conclude.

“Kurt. I’m here, sweetheart.” Another kiss on his forehead and Blaine buries his face in Kurt’s hair, holding him steady.

Kurt breathes in deeply when it feels as though he has finally come to, filling his lungs and diaphragm as fully as he knows how. The worry is gone. The tension. The hyper-alertness of… anything, everything. He will sleep  _incredibly_  tonight. 

His eyelids flutter against the black silk. He’s ready now. He licks his lips and says “Blaine?” so softly that Blaine feels Kurt’s breath against his neck more than he hears it. 

Blaine pulls the fabric away and presses his palm against Kurt’s cheek. When Kurt opens his eyes, the world is awash with color, the dim light of their bedroom brighter in his vision than it is in real life. And Blaine is there, staring into his eyes, waiting patiently and quietly and allowing Kurt to come back to himself as gently as possible. 

Kurt lifts his chin just enough to press a small kiss to Blaine’s lips, reconnecting, before he curls back into Blaine’s neck and says, “Thank you.”


	34. tattoo

“It’s Got Bette Midler?” 

Blaine is doubled over behind him, his forehead pressed up between Kurt’s shoulderblades as he shakes with laughter. He’s propping himself up with one arm on the bed while Kurt sits shirtless and cross-legged in front of him.

“My tattoo artist thought of it.” Kurt says, rolling his eyes. “It’s random enough to be funny, but still relevant to my interests. Don’t you think?” 

Blaine’s fingers grip Kurt’s shoulders as he pulls himself upright. He rubs a gentle thumb over the tattoo, mindful of Kurt’s still-healing skin. “What’s got Bette Midler, though?  _Hocus Pocus? The First Wives Club? Beaches?_ ”

“Blaine.” 

“Or… is it you? Do  _you_  have Bette Midler somewhere, Kurt?” 

“Blaine!” Kurt’s cheeks begin to color in a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. “Is it really that terrible?” 

“I’m… s-so–” Blaine loses it again, dissolving into giggles as he leans back and laughs at the ceiling. 

The embarrassment takes over, Kurt retrieving his soft blue hoodie from the floor and slipping it on over his head. “I know it’s a stupid tattoo, but… I thought it was funny. And not in the way you seem to think it is.” Kurt can see them both in the full-length mirror in the corner of his room, Blaine laughing behind him as he stares at himself. His affection for Blaine betrays his irritation for a moment, as he can’t help but notice how beautiful Blaine’s smile is and how cute those little crinkles at the corners of his eyes are when he laughs.

Kurt makes a show of fixing his hair after the hoodie has disheveled it, though he looks away from the mirror where his bright red ears and cheeks are so apparent. 

Blaine’s laughter quickly peters out, his eyebrows suddenly furrowed with concern. “Kurt, no, that’s not why I was laughing.” He crawls up behind Kurt again on his knees and wraps his arms around his neck. “I agree with you, and I think it’s brilliant. That’s why I was laughing.” 

“With me?”

“Not at you. Never at you.” 

Kurt suddenly feels silly for being so sensitive about it. He knows damn well that Blaine doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body. “Sorry, I’m just… I couldn’t believe I did that in the first place, you know? The original tattoo was only misspelled because of my mistake, not the artist’s. I failed so hard at rebelling.” 

“What were you rebelling against?” Blaine hooks his chin over Kurt’s shoulder and nuzzles into his neck, careful not to press too hard against Kurt’s back. 

“…Myself? I just wanted to shake things up.” 

“Then you rebelled perfectly, if you think about it. You went in with a plan, and then you changed that plan, even if it wasn’t on purpose. You shook up the shake-up.”

Kurt snorts, doubling over himself as he reaches up and clutches Blaine’s arms around his shoulders. “That’s barely logic.” 

“Whatever. You try to form a real argument when your fiance goes and gets all  _tatted up_  and  _pierced_  and surprises you like this.” 

He nips at Kurt’s earlobe, and Kurt shivers in his arms. 

“I have a thing for… all of this, you know,” Blaine continues, loosening his grip so he can slide off the bed and stand in front of Kurt.

“I know.” Kurt levels him with a steady glare, smirking as he opens his mouth and slides the shiny silver bar in his tongue against his teeth. He rests his hands on Blaine’s hips and leans forward, pressing his face to Blaine’s belly and licking a circle around his navel, sending hot/cold tingles across his skin as the metal drags against it. 

“Fuck,” Blaine whispers, scooting back onto the bed by straddling Kurt’s lap. “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to keep that?” 

“Uh-huh,” Kurt says, moving his bar-tongued focus up to Blaine’s nipples. 

“But… oh, I– I really like it, Kurt.”

“I’m a rebel, babe. I don’t do things just because other people want me to.”

Blaine laughs again, though it’s mostly the shock of the sensation than anything else. His breath hitches a second later, his fingers going into Kurt’s hair as he gasps, “You are. With –  _hunhh_ – with or without this stuff, I’ve always thought that was so hot.” 

Kurt pulls back for a moment to look at Blaine’s face. His big hazel eyes are glazing over with lust, his lips open around his stuttering breaths. Kurt can feel Blaine’s fingers twitching in his hair as he tries not to just push Kurt’s face against him again. 

“Well, then… let’s make the most of it while I  _do_  have it, hmm?” Kurt runs his tongue over his bottom lip, making sure the bar is visible as he tilts his face up and waits.

A huge, mischievous grin splits across Blaine’s face, his hips bucking a little in Kurt’s lap as he gets comfortable. Then he leans in and kisses him, immediately slipping his tongue into Kurt’s mouth to play with his piercing.

He’s still giggling, exhilarated, when they fall onto the bed together a moment later.


	35. couch/sofa

“Hmm… Huh.” 

Blaine opens his eyes and peers down at Kurt, his soft hums and chuckling vibrating against him where Kurt has his head on Blaine’s softer stomach. “What?”

“This,” Kurt replies, gesturing at their half-filled living room. They’re lying on the floor together, on a few layered blankets, because the movers somehow mis-delivered their couch and won’t get it to them until tomorrow. They haven’t even bought a dining table yet. “It’s just like when Rachel and I first moved to New York. Sitting on the floor, barely any furniture. Pizza and red wine, bought with my awful fake ID at the time. I know it’s been years, it’s just… it felt weirdly similar. But not. Do you know what I mean?” 

“How much wine have you had?” Blaine quips. “Here, sit up, I want more pizza.” 

Kurt does not sit up; instead, he reaches over and opens the pizza box, carefully retrieving a slice and holding it in front of Blaine’s face for him to take. 

Blaine rolls his eyes but accepts the pizza slice. “Thank you. Care to elaborate?” 

“It was this same kind of… feeling of possibility. Rachel had started at NYADA, I was interviewing at Vogue, and we’d just found our apartment and were so excited to make it our own cool, ‘New York’ loft. Everything was fresh. Except the loft. We had to do a lot of cleaning to get that together.”

Blaine laughs as he thinks back to that year, and to that time specifically; he can’t say he has quite the same feelings about it, since that was right before things fell apart for the two of them. Everything Kurt’s waxing nostalgic about now are the things that put them at odds back then, the things Blaine grew so insecure and resentful about that he – well, they’ve both made mistakes in their relationship, and have moved on since. But he can’t help but feel a sour twist in his stomach. 

“And now?” he asks, chewing his pizza thoughtfully. He’s done a lot of work to not get caught up in occasional flares of guilt and he doesn’t want to spiral down that road now. 

Here, Kurt does sit up, reaching for his wine and slowly wiggling his left fingers in front of his face. “We’re  _married_ ,” he says softly, his voice hushed with awe the same way it was on their wedding night. He looks as happy as Blaine feels whenever he’s reminded of the fact; yes, they are married. Kurt is his husband, and he is Kurt’s husband. This is it for them. 

Blaine takes a deep breath as he looks up at Kurt, who’s just beaming down at him in silence as though “we’re married” explains his earlier thoughts. The joy on his face is overwhelming, because Blaine knows that a glass or two of wine has nothing to do with his sincerity. “Yeah, we are.” 

“We’re not starting over, we’re just starting fresh and moving forward. It feels like I’m meeting a different New York, but it’s because  _I’m_  different.  _We’re_  different. I’m really glad we didn’t just move back into the loft. This is  _our_  adventure,  _our_  place to come home to. And I’m so,  _so_  excited to do this with you, Blaine. You have no idea. I just… I have to say it, because… we almost… You know.” 

He turns away, sipping his wine and looking around the apartment again as he tries to discreetly wipe the corner of his eye. 

Blaine silently thanks their missing couch for its absence. Hearing Kurt say these things tonight might not have happened if their living arrangements were in order. Kurt, too, tries not to dwell on what could have been, but he’s done just as much work as Blaine has and they’re both in a better place, both with themselves and with each other. 

“I know. We’re doing great.” Blaine sits up and throws his legs over Kurt’s, scooting in and holding him close. He wipes his greasy fingers on a napkin before he presses them to both sides of Kurt’s face, but his greasy lips are another story, Kurt happily sucking the bottom one into his mouth as he lets Blaine kiss him. He seems content to just grab the front of Blaine’s sweater in his fist and hold on, welcoming Blaine to push every ounce of love and comfort that he can into the gesture.

Kurt’s grip tightens, but he’s gentle when he tugs at Blaine’s clothes and says, soft and sweetly against Blaine’s lips, “This is the happiest I’ve ever been. Do you know that?”

Blaine blinks hard for a few seconds and rests his forehead against Kurt’s. His husband’s bright blue-green eyes are wide open, crinkled at the corners as he smiles right back at him. Kurt nuzzles their noses together for a moment, then lets out a quiet little laugh when Blaine’s long eyelashes flutter against his skin.

“Yeah, Kurt,” Blaine answers, kissing him again because he can’t  _not_  kiss him when he’s this close. “I know.”


	36. whimper

Everything is red. It’s red and wet and Blaine is  _shaking_  under Kurt’s hands, curled up in a little ball on the dirty concrete. 

The sound of Blaine screaming in pain now rings in Kurt’s ears, the New Directions gathered around them but uncharacteristically quiet in their stunned confusion. The Warblers have already scattered like – like  _cockroaches_ , Kurt thinks venomously, his fury that they would do something like this to someone they – someone they  _used_  to love, someone they followed like lemmings, igniting his temper as he fights to stay collected.

What can he do? How can he help him? How can he stop this pain?

Blaine needs him steady. He needs his anchor. And so, Kurt lets his brain run wild with  _mindless vermin_  analogies for his former show choir and focuses on swallowing his fear instead. 

“Blaine? Baby? Can you look at me?”

Blaine whimpers in response, his face turning up towards Kurt just a little before he curls up again.

 _What was in that slushie?_  “Blaine, please, tell me what’s wrong, is it burning?” 

“N-nnno – in my eye,” he cries, still pressing his hands to his face. 

Kurt’s heart thumps uncomfortably. Having something stuck  _in Blaine’s eye_  is probably the worst possible scenario for whatever just happened with that slushie. Getting an eyelash in one can wreck your day, let alone chunky chemicals and artificial sugar. “Listen to me, don’t rub it in, just – can you move your hand away for me?”

Blaine’s already breathing hard, but he sniffles and takes an even deeper breath when he lets Kurt hold his trembling hands. He can open the left one a little, showing Kurt that it is red and irritated, but since the right one can’t open at all, that one seems to be the problem.

Kurt can see how hard he’s crying. “Oh… Blaine, you’ll be okay, we’re gonna… we’re gonna get help, we…  _Shit…”_ Kurt drops his chin to his chest, squeezing Blaine’s hands to comfort himself more than Blaine in that moment.

This is worse than expected. This is Blaine’s eye. Eyes are delicate, eyes are hair-trigger sensitive, the  _slightest_  injury could– 

“I’ll call,” Quinn says, the clunky heels of her boots echoing in the parking garage as she approaches. “Where’s his phone?” 

“Front pocket,” Kurt answers, keeping hold of Blaine’s hands. His voice has gone shaky, all attempted steadiness lost as the reality of the injury sets in. “Call his mom, we’re not far from the hospital, we can just drive, right?”

“Right.” Quinn kneels on the ground right next to them with no regard to her knees and skirt being in the syrup. She quickly scrolls through Blaine’s phone and selects a contact, pressing it to her ear with an inscrutable expression on her face. Her other hand goes to Kurt’s back and stays there. 

“Thank you,” Kurt whispers to her, leaning down to kiss Blaine’s cheek while Quinn makes the call. 

“Kurt, I’m sorry,” Blaine says, still wincing in pain. “This whole thing was my idea, I told them we were doing Michael, it’s my–”

“It’s not. It’s not your fault. Sebastian did this. The Warblers did this. We’ve got you, okay? I’m here.” 

Blaine tries to open the other eye for a moment before quickly clamping it shut again. His body seems to relax a little as he squeezes Kurt’s hands and says, “Yeah.”

That “yeah” sounds like so many different things to Kurt’s ears. Blaine is blaming himself. Blaine is angry. Blaine is in excruciating pain that he can currently do nothing about.

But it also means that Blaine understands what Kurt is doing to help. Even if he’s a traitor to the New Directions, he at least has Kurt. 

Kurt knows his friends. He knows they don’t really see Blaine that way, not after this. And when he finally registers the calming pressure of Quinn’s arm against his back as she wraps it around his shoulders, he knows that they will help him. They will help him help Blaine.

Sebastian has no idea what’s coming for him. 


End file.
